Redeeming the Dead
by Cherryayay
Summary: When the Chosen Undead is unable to die, and his burden of relighting the Fire never cease, what happens when he meets the first kind woman he has met on his travels? He falls in love. But that love is a story that may never be known, so when Jaune must take up the mantle of the Chosen Undead's failure, will he know his old love? Or will the Dark consume him?
1. Chapter 1 rewrite

A/N: Wassup?

The fear of defeat can drive even the best of men to insanity, it's a simple fact. Defeat plagues us all, the fear of it so raw and powerful that children, men and women, young and old, will vow their lives to never let it reach them.

They will shed blood, sweat and tears to keep defeat away from them, fight until their bodies give out and continue until their minds snap, and they may rest forever in the pleasurable rest of wherever they believe themselves to head.

But in the end, defeat never had lasting effects. If one was defeated, they would rise again, stronger, smarter, ready to deal with the same problems and get better outcomes. It was why children were such crafty little things, and how the prey can escape the predator.

The worse one could face would be the second greatest fear of all: Death.

Death was another fear, only this was one that could be accepted.

When one dies, they go to heaven, their honorable deeds and kind soul leading them to the land of everlasting peace and happiness, and those that taint their souls with wickedness and negativity will wind up serving eternity in the burning pits of hell.

In the end, death will come to everyone, and in the end, no one can stop it, only accept it.

But for one known only as the Chosen One, he will never experience the calming peace that is the end to the afterlife, the certainty that his death will be his final moments on the world, and that he would resign himself to the fate that the gods have deigned on him.

But then again, no one could truly know the fate of the Chosen One, for no matter his death, he will come again.

Death by sword, greed, nature and monsters, this man will always return, and no matter what he shall try, no matter what he does, death will never claim him.

So for him, defeat is truly the greatest fear one can feel. The greatest of defeats will always haunt him, and he could only learn, like everyone else. But when that defeat is the equivalent of watching the world end, not even death could save him.

Once the world was ruled by Fire, an Age of Light. This Age brought prosperity, as mortals walked the same land as gods, served them faithfully and would live to grow old and prosper under the divine light that is divinity. Kingdoms rose, cultures spread, people loved, people hated, wars were fought, new inventions were made, mothers cradled their stillborn children while others tickled the noses of healthy babies, ready to raise them into the grand world.

But not all would be so simple, black and white.

For once those stillborn children come back, their pale, cold bodies suddenly twitching as they cry for their mothers, as the young warriors run through by the blade get up as if their hearts hadn't just been severed and mutilated, as the sick breathed their final breath yet pulled themselves from the crypt they were buried in, the grand Age of Light would come to an end.

The Undead were those inflicted by a horrible curse for some, and a blessing for others. Death meant nothing to them, time meant nothing, for other than a horrible outward appearance, one could watch and take part in the future of the world.

The gods would not allow that. So the Flame, that began to fade, would need to be relit. And how does one relight a flame without fuel?

The Undead, despised and lynched many hundreds of times, found a new purpose, with one of their own, a Chosen One that would relink the Flame, burn and satisfy the Flame's appetite with powerful souls, and continue the Age of Light.

The first Undead to do so faced an incredible challenge, exploring lands once forgotten and where they were once unwanted, defeating foes they could never once hold a candle to before, yet he prevailed, and for one thousand years, the Flame burned.

That should have been it, but there is a reason the Undead is both a curse and a blessing.

Burned for a thousand years, that Undead found himself once more needed to link the Flame, and so the challenge would begin anew, and the Flame was relit.

This then happened again.

Then again.

And again.

This same Undead, having both burned and suffered for thousands of years, eventually fell into despair. The gods immediately threw him into the mantle of Chosen, to relink the Flame, and despite such a mountainous fatigue, the Chosen Undead began his journey once more.

The gods never made mistakes, they were gods. They were perfect. But this, this was a mistake, that in their haughty, easy going attitude of throwing the same man to the Flame again, of great proportions.

The Chosen Undead was tired. Exhausted from the depths of his soul. He wanted rest. He wanted peace, but none would grant it. Death would not come, the gods would cast no pity, and his own people held him on a pedestal so high he could never escape it. Or so he thought.

The same painting he had passed dozens of times over hundreds of deaths over a handful of Fire relinkings had never crossed his mind. But when he finally took the time to admire it, run his hand down the ancient, splendid artwork, did he wish he had done so so long ago.

The denizens were horrid, the snow was biting, the land was filled with despair.

He loved it.

No way out, or so he thought, and he did not have to fight for some gods and some puny Flame. He could rest. He could sleep, despite his lack of need for it. He could sink into the snow, die of frostbite over and over just to feel his ancient muscles unwind.

Then he met her.

He had heard stories, how couldn't he when the same gods that forced thousand year burnings on him would always speak of her, but he never expected to came face to face with her.

Upon realizing where he was, he expected a massive she-demon to rise, a horrid bastard offspring of god and dragon that would drain him of his life force with a simple touch, but that was not who he met.

Instead, he met a giantess, shy and dainty despite towering over him, the softest, fluffiest tail working as a stress reliever to run his hand down, and the caring nature of the woman before him so new, so surprising, so refreshing, that he made a simple mistake.

He forgot his journey, the whole reason he began.

Once, failing would have been his hell, for where he could not die, he balanced the fate of the world. But when he finally met the one woman he could call a friend, who genuinely showed him kindness, gave him a sense of warmth that he forgot the feeling of, he forgot.

He forgot that linking the Flame was paramount.

One reason he could not be blamed would be that the world outside the painting moved at much faster speeds, and that in his one chance at bliss, that he did not realize that by the time he left, that the Dark had spread and was beginning it's takeover.

And for once in his long, long life of suffering and undeath, he finally felt true dread. An equivalent to the inevitable death; his failure. His defeat.

The world was cast into shadow, into Dark. So what did he do? Face the survivors? The gods? No. He went back into the painting, back into the caring arms of the one woman who gave genuine worry for him.

But just because the Dark was free, that did not mean the gods had disappeared. They all came from the Dark to.

Forced to leave the one woman he loved, the Chosen Undead was encased in a magical barrier, to only ever open once the chance for him to redeem himself would come.

For hundreds of years, he stood frozen, a silent guardian cast away from the painting that housed his lover, a torment and a taunt that made his soul quiver in rage and grief.

Hundreds of years of Dark had passed, and it seemed he would not be needed.

The Gods took great surprise to see the world overcome the Dark, not with Flame or prophecy, but with time and patience, evolution and rebirth.

Even still, the Chosen Undead's curse would keep his soul trapped, to be reawoken into a body anew.

This is where our story begins, in the beginning of prophecy, and a story of Redemption, and a story to find lost love and calm. It will all start with the grandest warrior, his shining soul a Beacon of hope, his story to be sung for ages to come!

...

"Ew ew ew ew! Get it off!"

"Way to go Vomit Boy."

"Why me…?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Yes, a blatant Jaune x Priscilla story, but, who knows? Is Priscilla alive? Has the Painting been destroyed? We'll just have to find out.**

 **As for sir Arc's** _ **build,**_ **I was thinking...what do you guys want? What's the absolutely** _ **perfect**_ **Chosen Undead build, the warrior who claims the souls of gods and demons? Will Jaune become a master smith, taking the Embers for himself? Will he be able to manipulate his soul into long ancient weapons and crystalline sorceries?**

 **Will he succumb to the seduction of Dark power, and master the Dark sorceries, miracles and pyromancies? Will he weave firestorms?**

 **Will he be the next dragonslayer, spear, sword and shield, greatbow and arrow?**

 **I'm leaving** _ **that,**_ **up to** _ **you**_ **all.**

* * *

"Why me…?" For one Jaune Arc, his day was not going how he expected it to go. First, there was the unexpected -but also what he should have expected- flight on the metal demon known as a plane, of which his stomach was all so readily willing to wage war in his body.

And second, by upchucking his meager breakfast of cereal and a granola bar -all over what has to be the hottest girl he has ever seen shoes- he was christened with his new title: Vomit Boy.

Stumbling out after the group of teenagers, all of whom were too happy to hurry away from the motion sick boy, he collapsed to the ground in a manner that was definitely not overdramatic. Him kissing the ground and praising it like the second coming of Oum was definitely normal, yes sir.

Getting to his feet, his breath back in his lungs and his stomach no longer twisting into a pretzel, two cerulean orbs swept across the incredibly grand front of Beacon Academy, the castle like structure catering to two long buildings of modern make and model, yet they fit the mostly medieval look perfectly.

Taking two steps forward, Jaune and all the scraps of dignity he had, found themselves once more on the ground, although this was due to the incredibly loud explosion -is that lightning?- that came from in front of him, pebbles and dust flying into his person.

Regaining his bearings, his brown gloved hand knocking a few pebbles out of his golden hair, he could only watch as that small black and red themed girl looked more and more like a kicked puppy as the white themed girl was all too happy to verbally tear her a new one.

Like an idiot, Jaune could only watch the scene in front of him as a third party entered, a rather goth themed girl with a cute little bow on her head, and holding a bottle.

Black, as he dubbed her, seemed to say something rather unpleasant, as White turned an interesting shade of red with fury, huffing and stomping away with her entourage of servants cleaning up and carrying the rest of her luggage behind her.

"Why is everyone color themed..?" He shook his head, walking towards Red as Black seemed to disappear, despite his eyes on the scene the whole time.

Getting closer, he could just hear Red mutter "Welcome to Beacon" as she slumped to the crater she and White made -did she just whine?-, her arm coming to rest over her eyes, but not quick enough to cover the smallest little dots of tears at the corner of her eyes.

As he approached, she removed her arm from her eyes, the sounds of his feet not walking away making her panic into thinking it was a faculty member ready to berate and get her in trouble, but as her fear struck eyes of purest silver gazed forwards, she instead found an -admittedly handsome- teenager with blonde hair and simple plate armor.

"Hey there, you, uh, need some help?" Jaune was nervous, as socially awkward as he is, but he had already spoken, no use in walking away like a jerk.

Red beamed at the help, both because he wasn't faculty about to scold her, and because with the sun shining on his hair and armor, he began to look like the knights of her story books, not that Jaune was aware of that.

Accepting the hand graciously, Jaune almost stumbled at the surprising amount of strength in her thin arms, managing to find his footing before she realized his stumble.

"Ah, thanks!...um, uh, Vomit Boy, right?" And like that, whatever feeling of kicked puppy in her form was forgotten as Jaune slouched in exasperated embarrassment, Red also wanting to smack herself for her blunder.

"It's much more common than you think." As he withdrew his hand and waited for her to brush off her skirt, an idea struck him with a smirk gracing his handsome mug, "Crater Face."

Red squeaked and became as red as her cape and nickname, spouting gibberish he could just make out, things like "It wasn't my fault!" and other denials.

"Relax," he chuckled, "I'm not blaming you. Besides, aren't you supposed to _introduce_ yourself before name throwing?" Red stammered, her toe prodding the stone floor as she blushed to her roots, muttering an apology before standing up, her eyes firm and nervous, "My name is Ruby Rose, Huntress to be!"

Jaune chuckled, "I'm Jaune Arc, short, sweet and the ladies love it!" Now cue Jaune's internal panic at his cheesy pick up line his father hammered into his skull.

Ruby giggled, her silver orbs teasing, "Do they?" Jaune groaned, his cheeks flaming red as his hand went behind his head to scratch at his scalp, his nervous tic. "Well, I mean, they will? Uh, let's forget I said that."

Receiving a nod from the smaller girl, Jaune began to follow the path the other students took, Ruby releasing another squeak as she realized he was leaving, she having been occupied awkwardly removing more dust, with a lowercase "d", from her skirt.

Jaune expected the sound of her boots on the floor, not a whoosh as she disappeared and reappeared in front of him, rose petals flinging off her front from the sudden stop. Wait, rose petals?

"Hello again!" Ruby awkwardly but cheerfully said, giving an internal giggle as she noticed Jaune's face scrunch up into adorable confusion.

Jaune thought of questioning what that was, but seeing how nonchalant she was about it, even in her awkward way, he figured it'd be odd to question a seemingly normal thing. Maybe this was a product of Dust weaving or whatever? The village militia back in his village had something like this thanks to Dust in their armor, but the specifics to it all were lost on him.

Mom didn't trust him around Dust.

"So…" Jaune refocused on the world around him as Ruby spoke, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours!" Jaune turned beet red, wondering if he just heard that from the little puppy girl next to him.

"Uh, what?" He squeaked. "Duh! Your weapon!" Oh thank everything holy. Without warning, Ruby whipped out a red box from under her cape, making Jaune jump back and forced to bite back a yelp as it began to click and expand -is that a scythe!?

About the size of him with a ridiculously oversized blade that dug into the undamaged concrete with just by resting the tip on it! Jaune suddenly worried for his manhood.

"Is that...a scythe?" Ruby nodded enthusiastically, spewing out facts and details on the complexity of sniper scythes and the ammo types, metal and plastic components, and prices, that completely flew over Jaune's poor head.

"Uhuh...that's pretty cool, actually. Where'd you get it?" Ruby looked confused for a moment, but her voice still held the confidence in her explanation of her scyther rifle.

"I didn't buy it, if that's what you mean, I made it. Everyone at Signal built their own weapons, didn't you build yours?" Ruby nodded at the sword on Jaune's belt, her weapon pointing at it.

Jaune shook his head sheepishly. "No, it's a family heirloom, more of a relic than anything." Drawing it smoothly, Jaune handed the blade to Ruby's waiting hands, watching her critical eyes with wariness and defensiveness over his weapon.

"What does it do?" Jaune blinked and took the white and gold hilted straight sword, angling the blade to reflect the sun as his face reflected off it. "Well, it swings, stabs and cuts." taking his white metal sheath from his belt, Jaune clicked the handle, watching it expand into a familiar white kite shield.

"The sheath can expand, become a shield...yeah…" Ruby smiled at him, but it faltered when he didn't offer any hidden information, no super secret technique her puppy eyes could drag out of him.

"Wouldn't it still weigh the same?" Jaune nodded, turning the shield back into a sheath and sheathing his sword, placing it on his belt once more.

"Yep, but old Crocea is sturdy and gets the job done. Couldn't ask for better." _Because I don't deserve any better._

"Crocea?" Jaune hummed in agreement. "Her name, Crocea Mors." Ruby nodded, her eyes lighting up as she hefted her scyther rifle over shoulder in a pose. "I almost forgot! This is Crescent Rose, my baby!"

Jaune clapped, making Ruby giggle, at least until she seemed realize something.

"Hey Jaune, where are we?"

* * *

 **Alright alright, hey there lovely readers and critical graders! How are you? How's/how was your Thanksgiving? How's break? How's your love lives? Etc etc.**

 **Let's think about what we know about Jaune...he isn't stupid, not in the normal sense. Sure, studies would no doubt be difficult, and he probably isn't the most studious teen, but no matter the dream, he had** _ **zero**_ **training,** _ **zero**_ **combat experience, no Aura, and only a sword and shield, no ranged weapons he would undoubtedly need.**

 **He obviously isn't insane, so he wouldn't normally go to Beacon to be a Hunter and expect to survive.**

 **But.**

 **What if he was dragged there by a...higher power? Say...the Flame? The gods? His soul? The Chosen Undead? He wouldn't be insane or stupid, but merely a poor pawn of fate.**

 **Anyways! I've done been thinking...why not give Priscilla a wee bit of competition? Say….the entirety of the female cast?**

 **Nah, I'm joking. Kind of.**

 **I'd love to see just what kind of female characters you all would love to see vying for Jaune's affections, even if it's in a tsundere or just camaraderie style. Will it be RWBY-verse only or shall some other lovely Dark Souls NPC's/OC's be involved into the Chosen's love life?**

 **Who knows.**

 **I want tacos.**

 **Could anyone guess just** _ **what**_ **Jaune's weapon is modeled after? A certain little beauty of a straight sword? Yes, I'm spoiling and making a bad Author's Note, but I don't care!**

 **Please review and pm me, I love receiving the thoughts of those that read my work, even if they find my work so badly written that it's a crime to even acknowledge it's existence!**


	3. Ch 3: Welcome to Beacon

**First off, expect some physical changes to the location, and most likely completely new areas and themes to what we know from RWBY.  
**

 **If you can get the gist of my story idea, then you'll know what I'm looking for when it comes to the changes.**

 **To the Guest who left a review (I do wish I knew your name), yes. Jaune** _ **is**_ **the Chosen Undead. I don't think I'm hiding that very well, but eh.**

 **If anyone wants to know what will happen with the story, details, other stories, and any manner of things, feel free to review and PM, as I will leave most (important) spoilers out of author's notes!**

 **Expect some minor (at least to me) changes to location, architecture, minor things, people, etc.  
**

* * *

Jaune found the clash of the medieval main building and the side, modern themed buildings to have a weird look. He's most likely the one who thinks that, since he's most likely the only one who bothered thinking about that.

The castle like structure began with a dark grey marble staircase the formed in a half circle around a tall, masterfully made statue of a man with a familiar straightsword and kiteshield -oh, hey grandad- with the staircase reaching the raised school itself by reaching a giant archway fit for, well, giants.

The windows were huge, but seemed out of place with their more modern frames as they continued down the length of the front to the modern side buildings.

Even as he and Ruby began to hurry their way towards the main doors, he couldn't help but notice the sheer _size_ of the rest of the school visible from the front.

The majority of the school's size was mostly a series of massive towers connected by multiple marble bridges to an even bigger -three extra stories at minimum- building that gave the impression of an enormous castle, an even bigger tower in the far center leading to, well, a _Beacon._

Every inch of the front was archaic, the dark marble smooth and polished, the railings curved, pointed and carved, the window frames and doors carved into arches, what looked like gargoyles lining the tip top floors with jutting landings that could fit two people side by side, or at least looked that way. It was a subtle light colored gothic-slash-medieval design that caught the eye and resembled a king's fortress, while also not being overly flaunting.

It was a thing.

The side buildings were much more humble, because while still dark marble, was more simplistic, with standard oak doors, several more bland walkways, bridges and smaller flights of stairs curling up and down the front, with the rooftops built into the bridges and walkways that lead into some of the smaller, but incredibly wide towers.

It was a clash of medieval and modern, but still with a look of awe and flair.

And Ruby was tugging on his hand.

Looking down, Jaune's cerulean orbs caught the childishly adorable look of worry and rush that the young Rose held, his much longer legs matching her quick but small strides as they raced up the stairway, Ruby seeming to try and convey her want to catch up to the others while trying to take in the sights at the same time. It was adorable, really. Reminded him of his younger sisters.

With some panting escaping their throats, they had made it up the stairs and into the marble halls of Beacon Academy, the two of them quickly catching up to where the echo of hundreds of voices were gathered.

As they passed yet another huge archway, having taken a slower, but still rushed dash down the front hall into the auditorium, Jaune couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship that went into the grand school.

Along the walls of the hall they entered, there were emotionless busts with gold plates telling of the names and exploits of the Huntsmen they were made to commemorate, along the edges of the archway into the auditorium being the carving of two huge, white knights with massive halberds, thick shields and pauldrons, their comically tiny helmets in contrast to their huge size almost laughable. According to the Valean culture book Jaune read before take off in that damnable Bullhead, he read that the carvings of massive knights like these was a traditional belief that the legendary -and most likely fake- warriors the statues were carved after would bring protection to the treasure they were placed in front of.

Vale loves it's statues, and it's knights. Not as much as Mistral, but the love was there.

Jaune felt Ruby let go of his hand, watching her comically trying to see over the heads of the taller teens by hopping, the top of her black and red tinted hair only glimpsing past their shoulders. He chuckled, Jaune's own Mistralean born height easily granting him view over many of the students assembled.

He would never admit that he was jealous of some of the obvious muscle and flashy weapons he spotted, many of them in perfect matching colors according to their owner' schemed outfits. Hmmph. Crocea Mors may be an old and simple weapon, but she was all he needed. Huntsmen using their mecha shifting weapons only lead to heavy expenses and a long, unnecessarily long, time to keep them in perfect condition. It was far too much of a waste of effort when the slightest mishap lead to a grisly situation, and really? Most of the designs he knew from the stories his father and the warriors back home had described were just seriously outlandish, and most were downright horror shows of wasted time and money!

He unconsciously backed away slightly when Ruby began to glare holes into his head, even if she didn't realize why she was glaring-slash-pouting at Jaune, who was also unaware that she was doing it as he continued to scan the crowd.

He was glad he didn't say that out loud, he thought,, because while Ruby was a kind, socially awkward gun nut of a girl, he didn't doubt her love for weapons also lead to a heavily defensive passion when it came to her own, and he wouldn't want to lose his first Beacon friend so soon.

Or his life.

So, keeping his comments to himself, he leaned against the back wall, patiently waiting for the speaker to show up to the podium in the center of the room, and was content to continue watching Ruby steadily whine louder and flail harder as she tried to jump higher than her pint sized frame could.

Entertainment at it's finest.

She seemed to have caught someone's attention though, because Jaune found his attention caught by the feminine sound of a girl shouting out "Ruby!", the voice belonging to a hand connected to a golden bracelet.

Said bracelet lead to an arm, the arm leading to an, ahem, _sizeable_ chest, with the chest leading to a head of rather well cared for locks of golden hair, the lilac colored eyes of the girl gleaming -at least he thought they were gleaming- as she too began to jump up and down in an attempt to catch the smaller girl's attention.

Her up and down movements also seemed to catch the attention of most of the testosterone filled members of the crowd.

Would anyone ask, he would vehemently deny and point out all the hundreds of reason why they were wrong in the assumption that his eyes slowly went wider and wider as her _assets_ began to bounce in rhythm with her movements.

With an accusing tone, one young Rose cried out a name Jaune was definitely not too distracted to notice -why would you think that?- when she disappeared in a familiar flurry of rose petals, some students-to-be attempting to dodge out of the way and cried out in alarm as they were suddenly assaulted with petals, the displaced air around them tugging at the more loose clothing some wore.

Jaune was content to watch things from his spot, as he began to remember where he had remembered that blonde she-deity, firmly rooting his feet in place in fear. Those familiar bounces...they were hard to forget.

She who had bore his stomach based accident that christened him with his new title, she was most likely not going to react well to his attempts at greeting her. Especially not in a kind way, seeing as she is a huntress-in-training.

Jaune simply sighed, resigned to his new, very possible enemy. On the first day- _before_ the first day of school even! His eyes roamed across the room again, his eyes stopping at a red haired girl for a second to take in her familiar armor scheme - _A fellow Mistralean? Cool._ He thought- for a second, but then continued across the crowds when he realised the deeper pit feeling in his gut was because of loneliness.

"Way to go Jauney boy...now where am I going to find another quirky girl to talk to?" Unbeknownst to him, the 'fellow Mistralian' he glanced at was looking at him curiously.

The redheaded Mistralean was about to approach the boy when a screech belonging to the daemons of Hell sounded from across the crowd.

"YOU!" It screamed, fury dripping from a no doubt drooling maw of hideous fangs and thorn covered body, armor made of bone and rotted flesh -oh hello…

Jaune's eyes widened as the owner of the screech was no other than the rather beautiful miss White he saw at the front of the school, berating his poor friend, Ruby. Figured she was the loud type. And the type to hold a grudge.

The silence of the crowd came back to a loud wave of chatter and happy talk, the momentary stun from the scream attack having faded and the crowd now doing everything humanly possible to do what all teens are famed for: ignore it and continue talking.

Hilariously, Ruby was clinging to the muscular she-deity's neck, the blonde girl's arms holding Ruby with a rather confused and slightly perturbed look on her face. Her revealing outfit had some rose petals still clinging onto the fabric simply from the sudden speed of Ruby's teleportation into the girl's arms, and White didn't seem to appreciate Gold -as he named her- returning her frosty glare with a bored, confused stare.

Feeling his awkward nerves return, Jaune was content to follow the teen ability of ignoring the scene, his eyes trailing to the podium as a blonde hair, regally dressed woman walked to it, her heels clicking as the crowd silenced. Jaune winced as White's remark of "Tall, blonde and scraggly" reached his ears in the silence.

The crowd took some few seconds to quiet down, but the woman at the podium, who appeared to be the most scary woman sans his mother to exist from Jaune's view from the top of the crowd, did not speak. From what he could see, she held her hair up in a bun, with a pair of glasses reflecting some of the lights from up above. Her arms were crossed, her somewhat old fashioned suit befitting that of the scary woman's stern expression. He saw a dark purple and black cape riding off her back, tattered and torn, but it looked as if that was intentional, or she simply doesn't care enough to fix it.

She did not speak, nor make a move for the microphone, instead, it was the steady clacks of a cane as a silver haired, mug carrying man with a green scarf and a freshly ironed suit walked to the podium, hovering just in front of the microphone that had been set up, the lights turning from the crowd to the two adults on the podium.

Jaune'd say that one could hear a pin drop in the near grave silent hall, but that would never be heard over the long, lazy slurp of the bespectacled man drinking from his mug, the sound grating in all ears present.

Giving a sigh of contentment, the man took a small breath and spoke,

"I am Headmaster Ozpin, the man who will oversee your progress amongst your fellow staff." He glanced to the blonde woman to his side, "Such as Head Deputy, Ms Goodwitch here.

"You have traveled here today in search of knowledge, to hone your craft and acquire new skills." Some of the would-be-students in the crowd nodded along, Jaune one of them, his cerulean orbs locked onto the bespectacled man.

"And when you have finished, you intend to dedicate your life to the safeguarding of the people, man and faunus, the rich and poor." Ozpin paused, his eyes roaming the crowd as he took a sip from his mug.

"But I look amongst you and all I see is wasted energy in need of purpose, direction." A murmur passed through the crowd, Jaune's head cocking to the side as he pondered his words. Purpose? Direction?

"You assumed that the knowledge you have and will learn will free you of this, but your time at this academy will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far."

Ozpin stopped to take another sip from his mug, allowing his words to sink in before he continued, delivering a final sentence that rung through the silent crowd.

"It is up to you to take the first step."

Ozpin walked off the stage in silence as Glynda took his place at the podium.

"You will gather in the ballroom tonight for rest. Tomorrow, your initiation begins. Be ready. You are dismissed!"

Welcome to Beacon.

* * *

 **Welcome indeed….**

 **Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are always welcome, and please. Send me it with a name other than "Guest". I would like to respond and receive more feedback.**

 **Yes. Beacon is Anor Londo. How'd you know, you silly boys/gals?**


	4. Les Rêves brûlent dans les Braise

**To the reader, Za Rudo (Guest), well, that depends really. Redeeming the Dead has taken the forethought of my wittle ole brain, but I do have plans for some old monster Jaunes I made. Not sure when they'll be started up, but I got plans for them.**

 **Regarding my creatures, well, the only ones I likely plan to continue/start is my Dullahan, Dryder (Jaune is half spider), Dragon, Fallen, maybe Yautja, maybe a Wraith (like Shadow of Mordor/War, maybe), including a few others, like a Demon, maybe rewrite my Kitsune, or a something. I've got some other monsters I want to continue, but the possibility of me continuing/starting them is slim, and these are most likely the ones I'll do.**

 **I accept ideas of all creatures, worlds, crossovers, etc. If there's one that's wanted to be continued alongside this story, even if it isn't a monster-Jaune, then feel free to tell me, and whichever I see is the most wanted, that's what I'll do alongside Chosen Jaune.**

 **I'll post whatever I receive the most of, then maybe start a poll, then we'll do a thing.**

 **For** _ **this**_ **story, I plan to bring in my new and improved (most likely not) Initiation! And I do wonder what will happen to Jaune...heh heh heh...sorry.**

 **I'm a good cherry, don't hurt me.**

 **Expect Canon elements, and non-Canon elements. This is my story, and I plan to cherry-fy it in my own way.**

 **Some backstory for Jaune that I may or may not mention in the story. Jaune is from Mistral, more specifically, the Outlands of Mistral. Outside Mistral Kingdom. Mistral also being a cesspool of the corrupt and criminal variety under the surface and rather calming upper class, upper levels of Mistral.**

 **Thankfully, Jaune never really had to fight any bandits, his father was determined not to let Jaune have to fight, but with the possibility there, he taught Jaune the basics in swordplay. Jaune** _ **will**_ **be able to use a sword, but definitely not Huntsman level.**

 **About the same level of a boy who grew up in the area of the world where criminals and the corrupt mostly reside alongside innocent people trying to make a living. Like that area of Remnant was John Wick turned into a place.**

 **Not OP, but I want to make Jaune seem somewhat sane coming to Beacon without proper training, but having the training of holding his own against common thugs. I wouldn't say he's able to hold his own against any type of Huntsman trained bad guy, or Grimm, as even the weakest ones travel in packs.**

 **He's got the basics and the body for it.**

 **Just figured I'd specify this little tidbit.**

 **Also, can any of you guys take a guess, or a thought, as to what the main-and/or-named characters of the RWBY world would be in the Dark Souls universe? Through all three games?**

 **It's obvious what kind of character Cinder would be, but what of the others?**

 **Compared to what I normally write, this is definitely my longest chapter ever written. With my normal, short chapter style, this was meant to be a couple separate chapters, but because I decided to give something that isn't 1-2 thousand words, here you go. Overly detailed, kinda drawled out, but it's here. Deal with it.**

 **Toodles!**

* * *

Whether one believes it or not, Jaune is more intune to the social etiquette of teenagers, and despite how comfy it was and how used to wearing it he was, he refused to sleep in the bright blue bunny onesie his sisters got him. He _did_ aim to find a girlfriend at some point, and while he and all his sisters wore onesies at home, and they were alright with them, he knew that nothing but unending teasing would befall him should he be seen with the bright blue article of clothing.

He was already Vomit Boy, no way would he ruin his non-existent reputation any further!

So, he instead came to the very _very_ spacious messhall-converted-sleeping area for the Initiates in black boxers and a dark blue, long sleeved shirt that slightly clung to his body. Before it was slightly baggy on him, and while he held no confidence in his swordwork whatsoever, that didn't mean he shirked in his physical training.

While definitely not a very muscly guy, and with his hoodie one would never notice, he _did_ have some decent muscle, most of it having come from the strenuous work back in the Mistralean Outlands with his father in moving wood and helping him transport materials back and forth between settlements and the Mistral Kingdom itself, the rest came from the time he would focus on training his body.

No muscle to write home about, but without his hoodie in the way, his lithe form was visible to all, and the view of a six pack could be seen. He held no doubt he was the weakest, as that one rainbow themed girl he saw in the courtyard held a gigantic greatsword over her shoulder, which had to be thicker than his arms, and her arms were as thick as the long, two hander handle of her weapon. She also wore a sleeveless jacket that showed off her skinny arms.

So yeah. He was definitely the weakest, six pack or no.

He was happy with himself that he was able fight down his embarrassed blush and walk to an empty space in the room, his dark blue sleeping bag under his arm, ignoring his self-doubt that came with the sight of all the much more muscled teens -specifically the males- showing off muscle, whether unconsciously, or on purpose.

It was mostly on purpose to get the girl' attention. Boys.

Spreading out his sleeping bag, he intended to get some light reading in on the books he downloaded to his scroll, with a certain Ninja's of Love book demanding his attention.

Sue him, the story was good! Blame his sisters for getting him hooked on it!

With his back against the marble wall, he took his place next to a girl in a gown, Black, as he doesn't yet know her name, her bow flicking -wait, flicking?- as she lit a candle with a match, both having appeared out of nowhere, and her eyes beginning to comb over a book.

Jaune's eyes glanced at the book, unable to decipher a title from the positioning of her hands. He'd ask her, but his eyes took one look at the skin of her legs showing through her gown, and the rather beautiful frame of her face that made him blush, and make him bite down any attempts at asking her before his socially awkward self made a mistake and embarrassed himself in front of another person. Another girl, more specifically.

"Hey Jaune!" His eyes snapped to the voice that called his name, blood rushing to his ears in fear of having been caught staring at Black next to him, but thankfully that didn't seem to be the case as instead it was Ruby waving at him, walking over towards him in a black tank top and some rather cute rose flower dotted pyjama pants.

A Grimm themed sleep mask? Cool.

What wasn't cool was the blonde that was following her, hands behind her head and chest puffed out in her yellow tank top that did nothing to hide her bust, and some really short short-shorts. The same girl who he had puked on on the plane. Who also seemed to recognize him, but thankfully didn't steer Ruby away or seem angry with him.

If anything she seemed more interested, if her expression meant anything, her hands then landing on Ruby's shoulders.

"H-hey Ruby." He meekly waved back, letting his scroll rest on the surface of his sleeping bag.

Reaching him, Ruby seemed to be filled with nonstop energy, quickly zooming towards him in a flurry of rose petals, her arms behind her back and a cute smile on her face as she addressed her friend.

Like with his younger sister, he reached out and patted her head, getting a cute pout, but she didn't back away. It was an unconscious act that he soon regretted, but thankfully that regret never went to anything as the blonde behind her chuckled and made herself known.

"Hey Rubes, didn't know you were interested in Vomit Boy here." Her tone was teasing, and he breathed in slowly and exhaled, both to disperse the blood that travelled to his face and to calm down at the fact that she didn't sound angry with him, and that no punches were thrown.

Ruby pulled a pillow out of thin air and nailed her blonde friend in the face, which got a chuckle out of both him and the blonde.

"S-shut up Yang! Vo-Jaune is my friend!" 'Yang' laughed in the action of Ruby trying to hammer her sizeable chest with tiny fists, her attention now on Jaune as she held Ruby back in the cliche manner of keeping a hand on Ruby's forehead to keep her away as she windmilled her arms.

"So, Jaune, huh?" Her eyes sharpened and he flinched as she seemed to mull over something. "I like that, it rolls of the tongue. Name's Yang, older sister to this _thorn_ -ed Rose." Despite himself, despite the groan that came from Ruby that stopped her windmilling for a split second, and the groans of Black and the people around them who heard her speak such a horrible pun, Jaune chuckled.

Which instantly _Rose_ him a few places higher in her book.

He calmed down as her gaze softened at his chuckle, and he became more confident, falling into a comfortable position against the wall as he stood to shake her outstretched hand, just able to hide the flinch as she unconsciously squeezed a bit harder than what would be considered a greeting handshake in mirth.

"W-well, looks like you're _Yang_ -ing in there." Ah, bad puns. The secret weapon of older brothers and sisters alike just to torment younger siblings and those around them. His older sisters may have done that once to annoy him, but they quickly became horrified at the horrible humor they instilled in the impressionable boy.

Yang smiled wider, this time all teeth as she dropped her arm, letting Ruby fall past her in a small puft of flower petals.

"Oh yeah, Vomit Boy, we're gonna have a _cat_ -tastic time together...just watch the puke next time, yeah?" Jaune missed the flinch that Black gave at the zero context pun as he nodded, him having found an arm slung around his neck as Yang pulled him into a friendly headlock. Although why cats? Meh. Puns are puns.

He'd be a bit more against this if she didn't remind him so much of his sister, Rouge, and be a bit more embarrassed at the chest against his cheek if Rouge wasn't bigger than Yang.

As Yang began cracking more puns, having released him at some point to instead headlock poor Ruby, they fell into a relaxed atmosphere only good friends could make around one another, although Jaune would fall into bouts of social awkwardness at times, getting some giggles from the sisters at his expense. Which also seemed to happen as Jaune attempted to axt suave, even despite his more comfortable actions, which ended in him turning into a blushing, stuttering mess.

Taking the time to look at them, he really couldn't see how they were related, but it wasn't his place to judge family, given the oddness and almost rainbow like quality of his.

Relaxing against the wall, he fell into a relaxed silence by himself as the sisters began debating on things regarding bees, weapons, knees, friends and social awkwardness. He added his two cents in every now and then, much to Ruby's adorable chagrin and Yang's mirth.

Somehow, someway, Black got into their conversation, which mostly seemed to stem from the fact they weren't even four feet from her when they began talking.

"So, Blake, what book are you reading?" Ruby asked, her stuttering tone having smoothed into a relaxed, friendly tone that showed just how easily Ruby was to talk to when she got into the groove of things. Jaune was like that, if only a few paces behind.

"Well," Jaune noted that her voice was mostly soft-spoken, but from her small tidbits into their conversation beforehand, which consisted of attempts at getting the girls and him to be quiet and-or leave the area around her, it could easily hold force that commanded attention. Sadly, it seemed only he was able to notice it, as Yang and Ruby continued trying to talk with her, whether it was complimenting her sleep wear -a yukata, from what Blake said-, complimenting her bow -she glared for some reason-, or trying to make small talk with the upcoming Initiation.

"It's about a man with two souls, one of his past self and of his present, both fighting for control, even if they aim for the same goals. It's called 'Fate'."

Ruby 'ooh'ed, and he swore her eyes twinkled, before speaking "I love stories, mom and Yang used to read them to me all the time. I love fairy tales the most." Ruby seemed to daze off for a second, her eyes seeing memories only she and Yang knew, but she beamed and focused on Blake, Jaune being a silent spectator.

"You expect a fairy tale ending in a Huntress career? Give everyone a happy ending?" Blake's tone went into condescending levels, but she also sounded genuinely interested in Ruby's response, actually dog-earing her page and closing the book, resting it on her lap as her amber colored eyes focused on Ruby's pure silver eyes.

"I hope we all get a happy ending. I'm not so naive as to think everything will end with cookies and knights, but I know that if I never try, then no one will ever experience their own happy ending. That's why I want to be a Huntress, to help people and do everything I can and more to give them their happy ending, even if I can't have mine."

That...that was honestly pretty noble, coming from a fifteen year old girl.

Then again, to become a Hunter wasn't something that fairy tales could paint, you needed to join with a _reason._ Some joined for the fame, some joined for the money, others joined to protect their people, others because fighting was all they were good at, others for sworn promises. There were many reason one became a Hunter, or strived for it, but it was always their own reasons, and those reasons were rarely kept because of fairy tales. Even the fame wasn't from fairy tales, but from knowing that their heroic duties lead to heroic treatment and rewards.

Jaune was once a member of the group that thought of Hunters as fairy tales and legends to be mimicked and pursued. A small group who kept this naivety for a long while. No reason other than that of a child's dreams.

Once, Jaune thought, his eyes downcast onto his scroll and his thumb hovering over the green 'call' icon, he would have said without hesitation that he wanted to be a Hunter to become a hero, a story book saviour. But growing up in the Mistralean outlands with his family showed the bad side, the gray and black areas of the line.

A want to protect his family from the true, horrible forces of the world, even if he had only been exposed to the forefront of it, the graying areas of the line.

Maybe that's what drove him to run away.

Shaking his head, he tuned back into the conversation, only to jump violently in his sleeping bag as White had appeared from nowhere and was verbally tearing into the sisters.

The argument may have gone all night between White and Yang had Blake not blown out her candle, plunging the room into a darkness that signalled sleep and an end, her small flame the last bastion of light in the dark room having been snuffed out by a blow of air, a forced, casual exhale.

Why was he thinking along weird lines like this? Who knows.

Sleep came easy, his memories and conviction fading as the comfortable chill of his sleeping bag's outer material sunk into his hands, and the chill of the hall on his face.

* * *

The next morning, Jaune found himself one of the first awake, a habit instilled into him if he wanted to get a hot shower before any of his sisters woke up.

Yawning, he crept carefully past the snoring, sleeping bodies of the Hunter hopefuls and padded lightly to the bathrooms for some morning routine.

He wasn't really surprised to find some people in the male bathroom, there were plenty of people that wake up early. What was surprising was that one of the two inhabitants was female, and that both of them weren't having some morning "fun" before everyone woke up.

That saved his eyes some.

The male was a stoic faced young man with a rather interesting shade of pink eyes and pink lock of hair to clash with his raven black ponytail, his dark green tailcoat and white pants giving him an almost "monk" kind of look. He seemed very laid back.

His friend, going by her actions to him and his response, or lack thereof, wasn't so laid back. Especially when she locked eyes with poor ole Jaune.

"Oh hey there! My name's Nora! Nora Valkyrie! And this is Ren, or Renny Bear, because he's just like some big teddy bear to hug and- oooh, Ren, he's got some long hair like you! You two can be ponytail brothers! Oh Oh! The Tail Twins! Ren's hair is _sooo_ fun to play with, he lets me stylise it. We've been together for a long time, but not, uh, _together-_ together! Heh heh. Oh, Renny! I hope they have pancakes! Your's are the best bu-!"

"Nora."

Like that, the torrent of Nora's tyrade of words ended with a simple, calm call of her name from the boy named Ren. Jaune was impressed by his stoicism and patience for the girl, Jaune himself wasn't sure just how long he'd stay sane around such an, admittedly cool, girl.

He was happily surprised that he could understand her rather casually spoken words, even in her excited tone. Unlike a certain Rose with weapons, Nora seemed to be a constant bundle of energy with a tap on her speaking speed.

She had short, orange hair, and turquoise eyes that sparkled with innocence and cheer framed her energetic, happy smile perfectly. Her jacket and white shirt was oddly smoothed out for her jumpy, energetic actions, her hands on Ren's shoulders and humming a nameless tune while shaking him slightly as he tried to brush his teeth, her pink skirt connected to her tights covered legs and pink sneakers.

Blinking twice, Jaune took out his materials for his morning rituals and began to brush his teeth after answering some of Nora's sudden questions on pancakes and sloths, for some reason.

A few minutes later, all three were walking out, catching some odd looks from the teens waking up or heading to the bathrooms. Well, it's not everyday an overly energetic girl walks out of the bathroom with two boys, making idle chatter about sloths and the noises they make.

Voicing his thoughts, Jaune addressed his two new friends, or so he labeled them, on a thought he was having, "I wonder what initiation will be like? Maybe we'll have to do some writing? Or maybe fight each other?"

Nora the Forever Energized butted in, clinging to Jaune's back in a way that sent him into big brother mode, hefting her up comfortably as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He just felt comfortable around the girl, her uncomfortably close actions not meant in any other method than just what seemed natural. That and she was nice to be around, her bubbly personality the equivalent of a happy, sun filled day. On drugs.

"Oh oh! Maybe we'll have to fight a Nevermore and a Deathstalker _and_ a horde of zombies crawling out of a hole in the ground!" That didn't sound like fun, even though Nora's tone suggested she hoped for that.

"And how we would even get to the Deathstalker, Nevermore and horde of zombies?" Jaune shifted her weight higher to get a better grip, Ren silent but the small ghost of a smile on his face and the glint in his eyes showing he was enjoying their conversation all the same.

"Duh! Headmaster Ozpin and Miss Goodwitch will launch us off a cliff! Then me, Renny and Jauney can form a team that kills Grimm in exchange for pancakes and we can sell their fur as rugs for lien!"

Jaune and Ren chuckled. Nora was like that excitable kid you just love making happy.

"Yeah, we'll name it the Pancake Sloths." Jaune joked, Ren chuckling as Nora 'squee'd and hugged Jaune tighter, nearly strangling the poor boy had Ren not tapped Nora's arm before she could squeeze too tight.

Breakfast was a calm affair, Nora even quieting down as she dug into her mountain of pancakes, only her happy hums audible over her literally _slurping_ down pancakes like one does with noodles.

The Stomach of Iron, she calls it.

Jaune dug into some bacon and eggs with a small helping of pancakes and a healthy pile of sausage, Ren having reserved himself for a morning bowl of cereal and some health bars, or so he called them. Nora seemed to recoil at Ren's pointing out of them. Soon enough, more students began to filter into the cafeteria, some familiar faces such as Yang and Ruby, alongside White eventually after.

Joining the trio at the table with trays of food, Jaune only raised a brow at Ruby's choice of breakfast: a platter of cookies. Which she began inhaling, much like Nora slurped down pancakes.

Yang seemed to have nothing but meat, boasting two giant piles of sausages, bacon and a pitcher of orange juice? Jaune glanced at his and Ren's glasses of milk, and wondered if he could get a pitcher as well.

Ruby and Nora got along swimmingly, Yang and Jaune cracking a few puns that made the other three groan.

Jaune loved this. He had honestly never felt so at ease amongst new people, but they all had their own auras of honest welcoming around them that he couldn't help but relax around them. Must be a difference between being raised in a Huntsman schooling system, instead of a public one.

"Good luck in Initiation, you two." Jaune spoke after swallowing the last of his pancakes, his platters polished off.

Yang belched, leaving Ruby red in the face and stuttering at some kind of "public behavior", but Jaune just laughed at the satisfied look on the blonde's face, Nora belching even louder, her gut seeming to have grown from food, and then deflating with the burp.

Seems like a useful ability to have…

"Heh, right back at ya Vomit Boy, cuz I'm gonna blow this thing outta the water!" Jaune smiled wider at that.

Yang had some pretty nice muscle mass on her arms, and her cockiness wouldn't have lasted through her training as a Huntress if she couldn't back it up.

Ruby nodded, "Yeah! No more awkward moments, now Crescent Rose can do all the talking!" A little odd, but her enthusiasm even made Ren nod in agreement.

Nora had "found" another pile of pancakes, Jaune pointedly ignoring the sound of some other student stammering at the sudden disappearance of her pancakes, inhaling them with gusto into an endless abyss that is her stomach, yet even as she slurped down the pancakes like noodles, her agreement was easy to understand, even if the words came out in a mess of dough and syrup.

Only a few short minutes later found the five newly made friends in the locker room, Jaune beginning to mutter outside of the group as they split for each of their lockers.

"I swear I didn't put them in 636...I'm also pretty sure _I_ didn't put them in the locker."

He had only came in the barebones of his armor and with his main weapons, having delivered his duffel bag with the other student luggages back before take off. He found it incredibly disturbing that he did not remember placing his armor and weapons in the lockers, and yet when he awoke they were gone and he thought nothing of it until just now.

Before any more thoughts on the matter of disappearing gear could continue, he heard the voices of two girls coming up, and he decided asking for directions to the 600 locker rows wouldn't hurt.

Despite the common thought of his sisters and his parents, he was a rather talkative person with others once he got used to the place he was in. Having had some pleasant talk with what he confirmed as friends, that being Yang, Ruby, Ren, and Nora, he felt himself more wanting to meet new people.

Oh, he was still very nervous, everyone would be, but he was definitely much more willing to go up and talk to what were practically supermodels becoming Hunters.

He didn't realize until he was only a few steps away, which he probably should've from voice alone, but one of the two girls he saw was the devil-slash-angel voice White, and that the other was the Mistralean red-head he saw in the auditorium.

Walking towards them, he tapped on the shoulder of the red-head.

"Excuse me, do either of you know where locker 636 is?" Something ugly passed over the face of white, her face fixed into some sort of snarl glare.

"Excuse you!? Do you have any idea _who_ you just oh so casually greeted!?" Her voice was just as angelic and shrill as it was from the auditorium. Which did nothing to help his rapidly decreasing courage.

"Oh, uh, no…?" It was very unmanly to hear his voice come out so meek to a girl at least a head and a half smaller than him. Two heads, maybe two and a half heads smaller than him at most.

For some reason, Red two point oh was beaming at his words. Odd.

"'No'!?" White seemed to calm down, or try at least, and pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath. "This," she said with a flourish of her arms at the much taller Mistralean, "is Pyrrha Nikos, four time regional champion of the Mistral Regional Tournament, the face of the most popular cereal, Pumpkin Pete's-"

Jaune interrupted her with a snap of his fingers, drawing an incredibly heated glare from the smaller girl.

"That's where I know you from! You seemed familiar, although that was probably because you're a Mistralean like me." For some reason, Pyrrha looked a bit worried. Was it wrong to label her as a Mistralean, even though he is as well? "I remember you from the cereal, my sisters are absolutely _obsessed_ with the stuff. Was it fun modeling for it at least?"

Pyrrha blinked, casually pushing back White with a hand to step to Jaune, their heights nearly even with Pyrrha only a tad taller than Jaune himself. Those could be her heels though.

"Ah, hello there." Her voice was very happy, rolling words off her tongue in the familiar accent of Mistral. "It's nice to meet another Mistralean in Vale. _To ónomá mou eínai Pýrra, kai eísai?_ " Jaune smiled and replied, " _To ónomá mou eínai Jaune, eínai oraío na synantithoúme._ I didn't know you were such a tough fighter, I heard the tournaments go through at least two hundred matches in hot pits?"

Pyrrha nodded. "Yes, that was too let fighters who lost have a chance to get back on the leaderboards against the lower ranking fighters. Those fights are the most common around the middle of the tournaments, and the pits are for the more 'gladiator' like themes the spectators enjoy. They're hot, and incredibly easy to mess up in."

Jaune crossed his arms and smiled, "Sounds challenging." Deciding to address their third member, Jaune turned to White, who was still fuming behind Pyrrha's arm.

"Hello there, my name's Jaune, what's your name?"

White did not take to kindly to his words.

Some minutes later, his ears no longer ringing, he made his way to the cliffs, his gear on and his sword on his hip.

His armor consisted of white steel from his home forge over leather, his hoodie underneath that. Some would think it too be hot for comfort in battle, but Jaune had a knack for heat, and the layers of metal, leather, hoodie and shirt did nothing to bother him.

With cuisses that cut off just above the knee, his greaves covered his shins and curled out just at his feet, where his sneakers resided, his knees covered by the leather that connected cuisse and greave. His breastplate was like that of a downward diamond, connected to diamond shaped pauldrons that gave the best protecting for his upper body, his biceps protected by the leather of his underarmor and hoodie sleeves, his right forearm covered in a gauntlet while his shield arm was only protected by leather, hoodie and brown glove.

The steel was, thankfully, pretty light despite appearances, and they provided ample protection, but he learned quickly in the bit of training he had that while he could move, the lightness meant there was little protection against incredibly heavy attacks, and his vitals could be exploited and cut through the leather.

He was aware of the faults, but he trained in this armor, and it was what he knew best. He wasn't picky when it came down to it anyways, armor was armor.

Pyrrha waved at him from a white pad away from him, to which he waved back. Pyrrha had apologized immediately after Weiss, as he then learned her name was, stormed off, his ears ringing something horrible.

He waved it off, mostly in embarrassment from how profusely she was apologizing for someone else who obviously wasn't sorry, and after gearing up he reminded her that they _were_ needed on the cliff with everyone else.

Oh, he missed Ozpin's speech. Ah well.

Wait, he was pretty sure there more students on the pads. Was that a click beneath hi- oh no.

* * *

 **Well, I was a dumb and accidentally deleted the page where I wrote the Initiation, and I feel this is enough for now, I'll rewrite it after I'm done coughing, and I remember what I wrote in it exactly.**

 **Yes, this is a long, overly detailed chapter, I hope you all liked it!**

 **I most likely won't write such long chapters very often, but I decided instead of breaking this up into the several other short chapters I normally do that you would all enjoy a long, overly detailed, most likely horribly written chapter instead!**

 **Let me know what you think, if you'd like, 'cuz I feel like the character designs I went for now were a bit skewed, but eh.**

 **I did have to go to ye olde google translate for the Greek between Jaune and Pyrrha, and if anyone does SPEAK, or is willing to translate english to Greek and so on and so forth for whenever I do write it, please let me know! Translate does have a tendency to mess up the language it is translating in ways only the speakers of said language know.**

 **The design for his armor that I mentioned earlier, well, come ask me for a full description and what I intend to do if you'd like to know some spoilers, and detail I didn't add.**

 **Thanks, little cherries!**

 **Yes, I did call you "little cherries". Deal with it.**

 **Let me know about any errors, whether they be consistency, character changes when I wrote something else or the other, or I made grammar errors.**

 **Please, feel free to critique me! Praise me! Praise the sun! All three!**


	5. Chapter 5: Beginning of the Past

**Greetings, greetings, bonjour et bonsoir!**

 **If ya know any German, maybe you'll get the last part.**

* * *

Pyrrha was absolutely _ecstatic!_ Here she was, the Invincible Girl, and for once, she could finally find someone who didn't know who she was!

Okay, that's a weird thought, but she couldn't help it. For so long, she had been shunned by her peers, unable to form any kind of true friendship with, unable to feel like the teenage girl she was.

It wasn't like others meant ill towards her, but after she became more and more popular, both from tournaments, spars, good grades, great looks, and that cereal sponsor, it was only natural that those of all ages would place her on pedestals, being some _thing_ to aspire to, not some _one_.

Many were too afraid to try and befriend her, for social reasons and personal shyness, some wanted to use her, others only knew her as a strong warrior, and felt threatened to meet her, others were jealous and disgruntled competitors and potential warriors she beat or they couldn't emulate to be like her.

Like that Schnee girl. Pyrrha knew she meant well, but she only treated the spartan as other fans, as some invincible warrior and nothing else.

Then _he_ came. That person she only dreamed of meeting.

Jaune Arc.

It just rolled off the tongue, and she had to admit, she really liked it. The Arc's were warriors spoken of in her history class, and to meet one so humble and shy was refreshing. He only recognized her because she was Mistralean like him, and his sisters apparently love the cereal she modeled for!

It helped that he was rather cute as well.

Screw the Schnee, she found her partner for the next four years, and hopefully longer.

So, she did the only thing she could do, follow her mother's advice. Never let your man get away. So she speared him to a tree.

A guaranteed partner.

Of course, mother's advice did bring a blush to her cheeks, but she wouldn't be dissuaded. Jaune Arc was her partner, she'd be certain of that.

So why did the blonde's cute mug bring a blush to her cheeks? Food for thought, later.

Reaching the area she had seen her spear carry him, she smiled. Her partner would be guaranteed!

"Jaune~!" Hands cupped to form a microphone, she giggled at the thought of what his face would look like when he saw her. Oh dear, she really needs to stop blushing today.

Silence.

Confused, she called out his name again. She hadn't seen any tracks on her trek to the spot, neither man nor Grimm, and the familiar feeling of his armor was still within the area.

No...above her? She really liked her semblance, being able to detect and mess with any and all forms of metal within her area helped a lot. But sensing specific metal was a pain someti- _drip._

Eyes widening, Pyrrha brought her hands to her mouth in silent horror. No wonder Jaune never responded, nor did he go anywhere, because that's hard to do when a spear is _lodged in your chest._

With a low, strangled gasp, she called upon her semblance to remove Jaune from the tree, careful to remove the now fresh corpse and set him gently on the forest floor in front of her. Collapsing to her knees, Pyrrha felt indescribable levels of panic, regret, and sadness flood her body.

How?...How could-?

 _It was her fault._

Throwing a spear in the act of pinning her soon-to-be partner to a tree by his hoodie?! What _idiot_ even thinks that could work! Aura or no, even had her spear hit the hoodie and ended with the desired effect, the sudden force and change in direction would have snapped his neck!

Oh Gods above, she was a killer!

Eyes closed, tears falling freely now, she let out low gasps of sorrow and regret, as well as pure undulated anger at herself for killing the one boy who showed her the kindness she oh so desperately craved.

So lost in her grief, the Beowolf sneaking up behind her may have ended the four time regional champion right then and there. Would have, but it's hard to bite into someone's neck when a sword is piercing your skull, isn't it?

* * *

Ozpin was a man of many things. Hero, warrior, friend, mentor, Headmaster, failure, successor, man of many secrets, the list went on. With more successes and failures than most legends could boast, he was a story book and a half.

From a man who housed fairy tales, wielded more power than most men could dream of, politically and physically, Ozpin was a man among men. A blacksmith amongst unsharpened blades, as per his successful life as Headmaster.

He knew more about the Hunters than even the original Hunters, his hands dirtied in the black area of the line of Huntsman life, including the political life of the Kingdoms. He could bring records back that were "lost" to time, bring fantastical beings only believed to be in legend to the front doors of his most hated enemies and disbelievers.

He was certain, correct and knowledgeable in so many things that he was practically a one man army, library, hero and failure in one.

One thing he knew for absolute certain was that he had many, _many,_ mistakes in his life. Seeing the absolute potential and future hero that was within one Jaune Arc, he had been so certain that letting the boy in, fake transcripts notwithstanding, had been a grand idea.

The boy could learn, and the friends he had made would teach him well, turning the meek boy into a grand warrior capable of heroic feats, for all of time to come.

What he had _not_ expected was the understandably excited Pyrrha Nikos to spear her partner through the chest and into a tree. Or that Mr. Arc apparently had his aura still locked.

Clarisse Arc would be understandably, lack for a better word, pissed, at her son's passing in his school.

He had sent down Glynda to retrieve the poor girl and now dead boy, especially so as the nearby Grimm flocked to Ms Nikos's position, attracted to her grief, seeming to inhibit her to react to the sermounting threats. Today, fate was indeed a cruel mistress, for whatever reason could such a thing happen?

One second, Ms Nikos would have found a Beowolf maw attached to her neck, Ms Goodwitch just a moment away from attacking in the girl's defense, and yet it was neither of the two who responded in time.

In fact, that response to the supposedly dead boy lying at Ms Nikos's legs.

His eyes narrowed, his glasses reflecting the light of the sun from his perch at the cliffs as he sipped his coffee, the grip on his mug tightening to white knuckles.

No amount of aura, semblance or anything else could bring someone back from the state Mr Arc had just been in. He had been impaled, accidentally, the sudden stop and change in direction from his fall wrenching the blade through bone and internal organ, no doubt also tearing apart the heart and lungs from the area of impact, even more bones breaking from impact to the tree itself.

The snap of his head to the tree, if his death had been any slower, would no doubt be the finisher for the poor boy.

So why, no, _how_ , did that supposedly "dead" boy just stand, impale a pouncing Beowolf, and rip the blade out in a shower of quickly dissipating Grimm gore, survive?

"Ms Goodwitch," he placed his hand to his ear, the near perfect skin color of the metallic object wedged in his ear nearly invisible to the naked eye, Faunus included, "do not engage, I wish to see how this plays out. Interfere only if necessary."

Glynda wouldn't be happy.

* * *

Jaune's sword flashed, the next Beowolf's head rolling to the earthy floor. Something was wrong. And not just in that he stood up after his sudden _death_ kinda wrong. No.

He never fought Grimm before, he was terrified at the thought, even as he boarded the Bullhead the earlier morning. Even the most clueless person could see just how unprepared he was for the life of a Hunter, the way he handled his weapons even worse than that of a beginner! Yet, as he dodged beneath a clumsy claw strike from a Beowolf Minor, his sword flashing into it's armpit and out the other side of it's neck, the sudden skill of his swordwork was questionable.

It was almost unnaturally _natural_.

Shaded by his hair, Jaune's eyes were not seen, his entire figure quiet, even as he suddenly raised his shield, taking the swipe of the Beowolf's claw and letting it push him some ways back.

If one could see his eyes, one would not see the bright cheer from earlier that morning, no. One would see two empty, dull blue pits devoid of life, his face in a neutral, stoic look even as he deftly cut his blade across the chest of a minor, his shield's edge cutting up into the jaw of another as he stunned the black, bipedal wolf.

The pain in his chest was gone, and his form was relaxed, even in the midst of the sudden combat. Each sword slash was familiar, yet it wasn't.

What had happened?

Soon enough, Pyrrha had regained enough of her senses to join the fight, her multi-action weapons disposing of the rest of the pack of Beowolves for, despite Jaune's sudden skill, he only seemed to be able to attack at one at a time, two at most, his form slowly being pushed back by the soulless wolf creatures.

Within moments, Pyrrha had dispatched the last of the creatures, rounding on Jaune with disbelief and hope in her emerald eyes.

As the fight ended, the light did not return into his eyes, but they held enough life in them for him to not seem like the walking corpse he no doubt is at the moment.

"Jaune, how…?" Her voice felt so pained and hope filled that something struck Jaune in the chest, the way her throat audibly clenched as tears threatened to fall again. Silent, Jaune looked down to his hands, finding Crocea firmly gripped in his right hand, no longer as hesitant or nervous now as he feared earlier.

He didn't have time to look up as he was suddenly caught in a bone crushing hug, Pyrrha's voice wailing in joy and fear as she apologized over and over again.

For while Grimm gore dissipated quickly, the blood of other people didn't, and it still coated her weapon visibly.

Awkwardly hugging back, Jaune let his fellow Mistralean cry on his shoulder. "It's okay Pyrrha, it's okay. I'm alright." He flinched. Had his throat always been so parched? And why was his voice so...dead?

"B-but, my spear, an-and your chest!" Pushing her back gently, he looked down, honestly surprised to find the massive hole in his armor and hoodie. Yet, his skin was unmarred, even as dried blood caked the articles of armor over his body.

"See? I'm fine." He rubbed his neck in pain after reassuring the spartan girl. Why was it so dry? It's like he hadn't spoken in years. He could use some water. Maybe a stream was nearby?

Pyrrha rubbed her eyes, which were becoming red and puffy, her makeup that was running from tears now smeared around her eyes and cheeks. Nodding, Pyrrha looked him over, finally accepting that the boy who she had -cue grief filled shiver- killed earlier was up and moving, and saved her from some Beowolves before she decided to help and stop staring.

She had questions, oh did she have questions, but for now, getting the boy back, who honestly seemed completely alright, made her happy, and she didn't want to ruin this miracle lest it end abruptly in a jinx.

"R-right." Jaune nodded, his eyes still very dull and dark, which began to unnerve her as he grinned in an attempt to be reassuring. With his eyes so dull -did he get paler?-, and such a grin on his face, he looked kind of creepy.

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and she wiped away some tears still threatening to fall.

And then began to blush to her roots as Jaune had unclipped his chest piece and let it fall, him beginning to lift his leather and hoodie with a bewildered look on his face as she yelped in surprise.

"What?" He was only checking for any wounds, why was she so red?

Confused as she turned away, her ears now a cherry red color, Jaune rubbed around his chest, confused at the sudden chill his skin radiated. Why was he so cold? His eyes widened a second later, dread filling him to the core as his hand prodded on a very specific area of his chest.

Why wasn't his heart beating!?

…

A few minutes later, his mini crisis quickly hidden before Pyrrha noticed, Jaune had strapped back on his armor and was now heading roughly in the direction Ozpin had told the initiates to go in for said initiation, Pyrrha just ahead of him, her expertise at leading surpassing him.

She was still pink in the face, but at least she wasn't crying anymore.

Unbeknownst to the spartan and cold bodied boy, two pairs of eyes watched them closely, one behind a steaming mug and the other trailing behind at a far enough pace as to observe and interfere if necessary.

The forest was still quiet, the inhabitants of the forest still sensing a threat within, whether that be the two Hunters in training or the smell of the dead Grimm on the wind, who knew.

Trailing behind Pyrrha, Jaune couldn't stop glancing at his familial blade and sword arm. He never learned any of those styles, and he knew for a fact that his reactions in that fight wasn't nearly as fast as he would have showed normally. Just what had happened?

First there was a feeling of freedom hidden under the fear of the launch from the cliff, then there was a sharp pain, darkness, and then his body moved on auto-pilot, defending the crying Nikos that was dripping tears above him.

Whatever it was, it helped, and he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, or se he believed the saying went.

Lost in thought, his hand experimentally flexing and gripping his weapon, he tried to bring back the memories of the fight clearly. Was that was his special power, thing he had heard his parents talk about before? A fragment, or something?

Come back, no heartbeat and suddenly be great with the sword? He wasn't complaining, no sir, but the cold skin and lack of activity from the blood pumping organ was unsettling, to say the least.

A sharp pain snapped across his face, the rustle of leaves accompanying a sharp cry of alarm as the tree branch Pyrrha had bent out of the way snapped back into place, Jaune being unfortunate to receive the brunt of the pointed, bark end of it.

The sting faded quickly, and the feeling of his blood on his cheek felt oddly warm.

"Oh Oum, I am so so sorry!" Things were definitely not going good for the poor girl. Continuing to maim her partner? Come on, girl!

"No no, it's alright! Doesn't -cough- hurt at all!" Okay, he needed some water, quick. The dryness of his throat shouldn't be that bad.

Pyrrha flinched back at the sound of his voice, his dull eyes wide -she swore she saw something glowing in them, but it could be her paranoia and jumbled up feelings still battling within her- as he tried to reassure her. A second later, and she grew curious. And worried.

"Jaune, why isn't your Aura healing you?" Jaune cocked his head to the side.

"My what?" Pyrrha waved her arm in short circles in front of her, trying to convey a message with confused movements.

"Aura, Jaune."

"Gesundheit." Okay, now Pyrrha was worried. "Jaune...do you not know what Aura is?" Jaune blew a raspberry after a moment of internal panic.

"Of _course_ I do, do _you_?" Okay so maybe that was a bit weak, but now Pyrrha began to draw horrified, and dreadfully confused blanks. _He doesn't know what Aura is? Then how did he get up!?_

Shaking off her fears, thinking maybe she was overthinking things and trying to rationalize her panicking thoughts, she took a step towards her partner, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Jaune, close your eyes, and trust me, will you?" Jaune nodded dumbly, the blush on his cheeks slow and almost painfully hot as the blood somehow forced it's way to his face, heart still unmoving.

Closing her eyes, Pyrrha began to chant, " _For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all. Infinite in distance and unbound by death, I release your soul, and by my shoulder, protect thee_."

Eyes shut tight as sudden fatigue struck her, Pyrrha reeled back to steady herself against the tree besides her, missing Jaune's sudden, almost violent shudder of pain and pleasure as what felt like pure, undulated _fire_ suddenly spread through his system.

Curious and coming onto some sort of high from the sudden heat spreading within him, Jaune was almost pouting in worry and confusion as, alas, his heart still stayed still.

Eyes now open, Pyrrha didn't miss how his eyes seemed to glow a bit of red and orange, but figured it was just the sun hitting his eyes. She was facing the sun, after all.

Smiling as Jaune, despite his internal worries, began to poke and prod himself, almost giddy as his Aura flared when he focused hard enough, a pure white filled with swathes of roiling red and golden orange.

Kinda looked like fire, if Pyrrha were to name the color of his Aura, and boy. Did he have a _lot_ of it.

Having had her Aura unlocked once before by her mother, she didn't expect the process to be so draining, his Aura reserves practically dwarfing hers with how tired she became simply from the brunt of it spreading out from his soul and all around his body.

Jaune felt his cheek, happy that the cut was now closed, feeling a slight ridge from the cut. At this, Pyrrha frowned. Even against his pale skin, the cut was startlingly pink and red against his face. But that wasn't what made her frown. With such huge Aura reserves, a cut like that should be completely gone, hell, even the most minimal of Aura reserves would make that cut disappear!

 _No Pyrrha, stop questioning your partner. Enough weird things have happened with your partner, most of them your fault to begin with._

Shrugging it off, the two continued on their way.

…

"Think the relics are in here?" Staring into the blackness of the cave mouth, Jaune rubbed his throat, mostly hoping for some water over the relics. Ignoring Pyrrha's observations to the cave paintings along the outside, walking in, the sounds of dripping water most likely made up thoughts due to dry throat pain.

Turning around and walking in backwards, careless in cockiness as the idea of his sudden fighting skill and Aura gave him the feeling of strength and confidence he couldn't have imagined possessing.

Which meant he no doubt deserved the sudden pain to his back as it shattered, his Aura unconsciously lowered in his carelessness, the golden tail of the Deathstalker sending his body crashing into the forest in a broken rag doll flight.

Hello darkness, my old friend.

And Pyrrha was panicking again, her shield protecting her as the force of a second tail strike from the Deathstalker sent her skidding back, but she stood tall.

Running seems like a good idea.

…

This...this was new.

Staring upwards, Jaune would never, and could never imagine the afterlife being so...quiet. And quiet.

With a startled jump, Jaune stood, his hand falling to his - _where's Crocea Mors!?_ The reason for his jump? The sudden, low giggle that came from the circle of moss covered stairs in front of him.

With a hand to her mouth, the palest woman Jaune had ever seen sat atop a rock, her clothing consisting that of bandages wrapped around her bust, legs and lower body, her ankles wrapped in the same white cloth, only slightly dirtied, no doubt from the grass and moss around them, as well as loosely wrapped around her wrists and forearms, the ends torn and draping down.

What caught his attention was not the wrapped bandages across her eyes, nor how half her pale head was shaved with half of her hair curling down the right side of her face, no. It was just how tattooed her _entire body_ was. From her neck to her feet, he saw ink designs marking her pale body.

Strangely, the mostly seemed to consist of text he couldn't make out, her forearms showing hints of tattooed daggers under the thin cloth that wrapped around them.

Removing her hand from her lips, where it covered them in her little sets of giggles, her light pink lips curled into a light smile, her head cocking to the side as unseen eyes ran up and down Jaune's body.

"Hello, Little Ash. It's nice of you to finally come and visit me." Her voice was low, soft, but rich and oddly alluring, wait.

"'Little Ash'?" Jaune questioned, his panic subsiding as an odd sense of calm entered him, and he got a good look at his surroundings. It looked like a crumbled church, the two of them at the base of the path, in a circle of moss covered steps, a pile of black soot in the center, a coiling sword stuck into it.

She giggled as he took in the gargantuan tree above them, the sun filtering through far off leaves.

"That is what you are, Little Ash." She cupped her cheeks as her mouth formed a wide "O". "Oh, where are my manners."

Standing up and on the moss covered floor, her boulder seat behind her, she bowed politely, standing to full height with her hands clasped over the other over her lower stomach.

"You may call me Bildnis, the Vessel of Lordran."

* * *

 **My apologies for this chapter. I feel it was rushed, but I do hope you all enjoyed it. Yes, my chapters will most likely be like this, splintered and leaving cliffhangers -bad and good ones-, and not really connecting to other chapters like they should.**

 **I still hope all who made it this far are willing to give it a chance and suffer through this with me. I write about as well as a blind, drunk, dog writing with its tail.**


	6. Chapter 6

_Reincarnation is a simple, yet severely falsified concept._

 _For one to be reborn is not a matter of the soul having gained enough spiritual energy to inhabit a new physical form through years of wait, as most spiritual believers would say, nor is it a fickle, faux tale spun by hermits, as men of thought would believe._

 _Reincarnation is not for the benefit of the soul, the individual, but the benefit of those that live above._

 _Those that live as Gods._

 _Some would find it an honor, the Gods willing to extend their energy to bring one who has caught their attention back from the dead, to serve their Lords, but for those such as the Spurned, it was a cruel, devilish punishment. A final chance for peace found in death stolen away by use as a tool for the greedy hands of the Gods._

 _The truth, my dear youth, is that the Gods do not care for those who stray from their belief of perfection. They do not believe in second chances, nor offer absolution unless their goals are perfected in the end._

 _Reincarnation is merely one of their poisoned apples hidden under a coating of gold._

 _Tell me, dear believers, would those beings so arrogant, so cruel as to manipulate the suffering for their own ends, could those that would do such a thing, find themselves worthy to be hailed as legends? As beings worthy of worship?_

 _I say...they deserve Judgement._

 _-Lost page of a Heretic; circa, unknown_

* * *

Sitting atop the steps of the circle, Jaune stared into what was once a pile of ash, speared through with a burnt, red coiled sword, now giving off a relaxing bit of warmth from his spot as the flames lazily flickered and swayed, the silent crackles and smell and warmth of the fire doing wonders for the boy.

It just started, much to his confusion. The woman, Bildnis, simply waved Crocea Mors over it and it started, before tossing the boy his weapon, voicing that she meant no harm and was simply here as a guide to the boy.

"So...you know what I am?" He absently ran his hand down the sheath form of Crocea Mors. Having his weapon returned did help him trust her enough to be willing to listen to what she had to say, especially if she could answer his questions.

Crocea Mors meant everything to him, his own father entrusted him to use the blade one day, and while he no doubt brought anger and shame upon himself for running away like he did, taking care of the blade was the least he could do for his father, and his name as an Arc.

Shame was not something that went in the same sentence as the Arc name, and he may have just brought that down, for the first time in history, upon the Arc name.

Returning Crocea Mors to him most definitely brought Bildnis into his good graces, now he just needed to stay in hers, both as a guest and being grateful for her returning his beloved weapon.

Bildnis nodded, having returned to her seat upon the boulder-slash-brick pile along the broken wall, a cloudy sky and distant lands far below stretching for as far as he could see from his position.

"Yes, I know what you are, as well as _who_ you are, very well." Jaune blinked. Had they met before?

"To answer your question, Little Ash, you are Undead." At those words Jaune…

...frowned. And that puzzled him.

This was practically confirmation to those thoughts that bounced around in his head, and while it was easy to simply say she was a crazy, lonely woman looking to try and sadistically torment a boy with a series of mind worries- the strength in her voice, the casualness of it, the way she said it so surely, as if it was a mere fact, simply had Jaune agree.

And, while even if he did agree as he already does, should he not be panicking from having to believe it? He didn't.

Something in his chest stirred, but it wasn't panic, fear, not even anger or confusion, simply cold acceptance. He just nodded, even as the frown marred his now paler than average face, and he could not find the words to dispute that short, simple sentence, even as he tried, and his mouth opened and closed slowly.

"I...see." It was probably best to simply agree with it, and as the feeling of cold agreement in his chest spread through the rest of his body, making the half-arguments in his head fall flat, he couldn't remove the frown from his face so easily. It was just...

He felt _torn_. He believed it, from the depths of his chest, he knew it to be true, he _was_ an Undead, those from the tales he was told as a child, but he could not understand why he disagreed, why something felt hot in frustrated disagreement in his chest alongside it.

It was cold confirmation and hot disagreement.

"But…" He was going to point out that Undead were simply a myth, the hot disagreement in him fighting to win, yet, unconsciously, his hand found its way to his left forearm, and he felt something cold, hot and _hollow_ on his flesh as the material of his armor pushed on it.

It felt like a ring. A _burning, cold_ ring. A ring only known in legend.

"...why me? How-how could _I_ be an Undead?" He was confused, the hotness in his chest fighting harder to spread to his head. This woman calls him an Undead, he firmly believes it on one half, and the other is quick to try and make him deny it. It couldn't be right, but it is, but it isn't?

He felt a headache coming on.

Bildnis seemed to notice the conflict in him, her head cocking to the side in an odd display of worry, as a low, alluring hum escaped her closed lips, unseen eyes peering deep within him.

For several silent moments bordering on minutes, Bildnis kept staring at Jaune, one hand propping her head up on her knee as she slowly cocked her head to the other side. Finally, startling Jaune, she sighed.

"Of course you would be ignorant to this, how foolish of me." Shaking her head as if scolding herself silently, she stood up casually and gracefully, "Your soul was only unlocked such a short while ago, after all. Unfortunately, it seems your living half has began to try and blot out your true self."

Living half? True self?

"Wha...what exactly do you mean by that?" Jaune wasn't feeling so calm anymore. She wasn't one of those wandering, crazy Tarot card readers was she? The stories of their oddness of terminology seemed to describe her odd words well.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she turned her hidden gaze to the sky, her tone still as alluring, but much more, would bland be a good description, he wondered?

"It seems, Little Ash, that you will need a push in the right direction. I had hoped you'd have regained at least some of your past self, but the safeguard of your living half blots it out." That didn't really answer his question, him taking a step back as she casually began to walk in his direction, having risen when she had.

"Normally, I'd be worried having to push you through such a trial so early, but your living half has yet to accept your true self, and if we are to rectify that, it seems to be necessary." She had spoken slowly, each step measured so that when she was finished speaking, she had caused Jaune to backup to the ledge, his hand on the handle of Crocea Mors, yet not pulling it free with how fearlessly, casually she was standing before him, her unseen gaze rising up his body to meet at his face, paralyzing him on the spot.

They met eye to eye, and he swore he saw a flash of orange under a small slip between the bandages around her eyes, before her hands slowly, almost sensually began to hike up his chest armor, the fingers tracing around the hole in the material before settling over his pecs.

He gulped, feeling another scalding hot blush on his cheeks.

"Little Ash, for us to continue and for your journey to bear fruit…" She leaned close, her lips almost grazing his ear as she whispered into his ear, her palms flat over his chest and him to shocked to do anything. This was really _really_ sudde-

"Survive your past." Wait, what?

He didn't get to utter a word when she suddenly pushed, him tripping over the cracked side of the cliff as, caught unaware, he was unable to fight against the almost effortless push of his chest, the worried frown on the woman's face quickly get smaller and smaller as his vision began to black out, a yell fading out of his vocal cords.

As the beginning of a ravine began to fill his vision, his vision fully went black, only for him to yell, his eyes snapping open…

...to reveal a cobblestone room?

* * *

Ozpin stared into his scroll, the screen flickering across multiple cameras around Mr. Arc's current position before settling on one on a tree just across the boy. If he was honest, he found the angle rather disturbing.

Mr. Arc was currently slumped over, his back against a broken tree, blood in a dried puddle around the boy, the light of the sun breaking through the trees over the boy's broken body. With the occasional leaf falling and the rays of light fading with the sway of the canopy, it didn't give a happy view of the boy.

Glynda had looked downright ready to tear him a new one when told her to leave the boy as he was, but relented enough to not try and strangle him with a glare when he told her to make sure his body was protected.

He and Glynda had seen the boy's sudden awakening from death, and it was concerning, to say the least.

His eyes narrowed as he look at the boy slumped over, his fire tinged white Aura occasionally flaring up in a gentle wave over the boy's body. If _she_ was behind this, then keeping an eye on the boy would be the most logical plan of action.

Taking him out so early in his arrival, permanently, could no doubt spark a reaction from _her,_ whether from _her_ forces, or the boy himself. He had no idea if she had planted this boy, and if she had, then she was getting bolder, and craftier.

A boy who escaped his gaze as potential filled, young man, only to be able to rise from the dead? Not unheard of, he had lived long enough to see such things, but for one to infiltrate his own Academy? A bold move on her part. And foolish. A boy with no training, who could die so easily, with the Grimm _still_ attacking him like any other human being, only to get back up? If it was her, then she was slipping up or toying with him.

No, he shook his head, she wouldn't waste power so brazenly, especially when she knows he overseers the initiation each year.

He couldn't rule out that it was her, but...that reaction the boy had had been genuine, of that the Headmaster had no doubts. A sleeper agent who failed early, perhaps? The boy was an unknown, as far as he was concerned, and Ozpin had grown to have an undeniable hate towards unknowns, no matter how carefully, if casually, he approached them.

He would have Glynda keep an eye on the boy whenever possible, as well as the few staff he trusted, he couldn't make it obvious to the boy he was being watched specifically. If the boy was indeed sent in by her, then he would be a threat that would need to be eliminated in a controlled manner, to not give her any suspicions, but if he was merely one of the "special cases" that existed, then he was simply another one to document and attempt to keep on Ozpin's side.

Should the latter be the case, then Ozpin would have an undeniably strong piece to his army, and a grand future Huntsman to aid in the fight for mankind. All that was needed now was observation and careful steps.

Here's hoping old Jimmy's head isn't turned towards the boy any time soon.

While having good intentions with the safety of the Kingdoms in mind, Heaven knows what he would do when he got his hands on the boy, he and his army of scientists who see science experiments before people, in light of the boys oh so obvious mystical powers.

Now, what could he offer Glynda as a peace offering to make sure she doesn't chew his ear off over the boy's still broken body sitting in the open of a Grimm infested forest, who only ever exist to eat people, with Mr Arc counting as said portion of their diet?

* * *

Jaune's slowly, cautiously roamed the small, rectangular room. No, not a room. A _cell_ , more specifically, judging from the bar door and small, rectangle size.

His nose wrinkled back in disgust as a horrible odor filled his nose, like that of decay, with a lingering stench of...almost like the after odor of rotting meat, not exactly there but pungent, like it was trapped in the air.

Rhythmic pounds and crunches swept through the air, almost like footsteps. A guard? Possible, but what guard makes such noise?

A horrible thud nearly, should he have had a still beating pulse in his chest, gave him a heart attack.

Jaune sprung to his feet and slammed his back to the wall he had been leaning on, his hands flying to-and Crocea Mors was gone again. Great. No, actually. It had been replaced by a rusted, broken sword not even worth calling a makeshift dagger. Going by the shape, he breathed a sigh of relief in the difference of the the shape of the hilt, and the shorter grip. His weapon hadn't suffered a horrible, rusted change with his sudden locational change. That's good. Now to the body.

His eyes were glued to the aged, sun browned corpse that landed on the cobble of the floor, it's cheeks sunken in, teeth yellowed, lips chipping away, and eyes missing. It wore practically a rag around it's lower body, the muscles all but decayed away with the flesh tightly clinging to the bones, looking every bit as disgusting and pathetic as one would expect from a corpse.

The sudden beam of light in the room caught his attention.

His eyes travelled up, a large square hole of a skylight hatch opened to reveal a knight- an honest to all that is sacred, knight.

He couldn't see through the narrow eye slits, but with one boot on the edge of the hatch, arm resting on it and an almost silent grunt escaping his lips, the knight stood, his shadowed gaze only leaving Jaune's figure as his helm past the edge of the open hatch.

Standing up, Jaune called out to the knight, but a familiar, and hated burning dryness in his throat stopped him. It was better back at that old, nature reclaimed place he met Bildnis at, where his throat was magically healed. It wasn't like his hacking cough of a call mattered, the knight ignored him and kept on his way.

Looking to the corpse kicked into his cell, Jaune wrinkled his nose again as it's lingering scent came to him. It was faint, but noticeable as it made the already rank smell worse. He was steadily getting used to it, and as he pondered jumping for the open hatch, a glint came from the clothed hips of the corpse thrown in front of him, the sunlight from above shining on it like a spotlight on an actor.

Clung to the makeshift belt of the body was a black, rusted key. Jaune blinked, giving a thankful 'huh' as he glanced to the locked door, how he knew it was locked he didn't know, but seeing as he was in a cell, it would be odd if it wasn't, and the key attached to the body in front of him.

He couldn't figure out why the entire body was thrown in, but hey, a gift was a gift.

He found it odd how he didn't flinch when getting so close to the corpse, but as he took the moment to stretch his legs and open the door, he decided not to question it. As the door swung open with a loud, creaking shower of rust, he seriously began to wonder where he was.

A wet, rank hall led out the door of his cell, pitiful, weak moans escaping what were no doubt his fellow captives as the sight of more doors were spotted. Some of the, no doubt, captives were roaming the hall, and he didn't like what he saw.

He gulped, winced, and took a step forward, his eyes glued to the corpse that was slowly banging its head against the wall. Corpses shouldn't be able to move.

A sudden wave a coolness struck him, and he straightened, even as the grip on his makeshift weapon didn't lessen. He knew what that was, and now he knew where he was, and that made something cold stir in his chest, and an odd tingling in the back of his skull.

An Undead, no more than what he was. One look at the cells and the decay of it all, including what he knew, it made sense it became what it was. No jail this old would still be in use and look like this. Not if there were guards...but where the guards? He'd have expected something similar to an armed soldier at least.

Maybe that knight who gave him the key took care of them? Then again, he'd heard stories of these, every child who lived outside Kingdom walls had. When the Undead ran rampant and were of threat to the living oh so long ago, and with no way to kill them off permanently, great fortresses had been built far from the civilized world to house them. He was in one, he was sure of it.

His eyes hardened, both in sympathy for the creature and in an effort to forget he was the same as the pitiful thing that was no more than a twig.

A withered Undead, forever trapped in its own insanity and a stone cage to rot and decay.

His sword found it's way into its back, and he heard a pitiful, but horrifyingly thankful moan escape the corpse.

Why had he done that? He blinked, his eyes falling to the ancient, broken blade in his hand. He didn't even realize he had moved before the thud of his blade entering the Undead's back registered in his mind.

He nearly yelped in shock as a floating wisp of white, disentached light escaped the corpse, floating up and flying into his chest like that of a small serpent. He blinked, closing his fist in his hand, and noted the pleasant chill that followed where the serpent entered his body.

It wasn't much, and he had to really focus to know it was there, but it felt _good._ He could feel it, something calming, stationary, with a cool chill, in the center of his chest. It wasn't so good that it felt almost like that of a drunken stupor, but more of like that of a blanket, or similar to a hug, rooting him down and keeping his mind in motion.

What was it though? From what Jaune remembered from late night stories, Undead were of a monstrous type that could rip the souls straight out of the living. But that was an Undead, an ancient one at that, lost to its insanity and rotting away. No access to the living, going by how decrepit and in need of repairs the place looked.

So was that...the Undead's soul? It didn't fit right into his head at that notion, but that familiar cold understanding coiled in him, and he decided on not questioning it.

Looking forwards, he spotted the rest of the Undead, rotted away to shambling husks, and noted that none were looking towards him. Honestly, they were just mindlessly roaming about, gently hitting their heads to steel bars, sitting with their heads lazily bobbing, their mouths open with the occasional, dry moan.

No threat to Jaune, so he decided to let them be.

As he hurried past them and continue down the hall, he froze in pure fear, his eyes widening into saucers as he looked through the window of bars, and the distant pounds and crunches began to make sense.

Poorly lit, with only a few torches flickering in their sconces, his eyes tracked the circular, lazy path of the hulking beast as it walked in a slow set path around the large room. It was by far the biggest creature he had ever seen, with an almost comical but putrid smelling -he could smell it above every other smell, disgustingly- large body like that of slug, with a small head that gave way to large, gnarled horns, tiny arms that wielded a _humongous_ stone-like hammer-thing, and with legs like that of chickens, huge and meaty.

He would have laughed had the crunching not come from a giant pile of _bones_ and, to his horror, constantly stepped on and crushed bodies of Undead. The entirety was covered in slimy green, crocodilian like skin with a white-ish underbelly, and the low growls and heavy stomps cut his laughter to a dead halt, even as it's comical shape and belly slightly jiggled with each step.

Okay, he did _not_ need to see that things rear! That'd horrify him for days on end!

Forcing his legs to move, he bounded down the hall, ignoring the Undead that trickled to and fro lazily. They were of no threat to him, he saw no reason to be of threat to them.

Hurrying past the poor creatures, he cautiously sped up the stairs, careful to let nothing get the jump on him, but not too slow as to spend any more moments than necessary within the rank hall.

His eyes fell to an Undead on its knees within a room slogged with shin high water, it sitting perfectly still with only the snail like slowness of it wavering back and forth, as if it was losing its balance.

Ignoring it, he went through the door along the raised path of the water slogged room, entering a cylindrical tower like room with only a rusted ladder going up.

Letting out a sigh, he gripped the ladder, biting back a sense of nervousness as it groaned under the sudden weight, but fortunately, it held firm as he climbed to the top. Breathing a sigh of relief and joy under the cool, crisp air, he walked into a courtyard covered in ancient stone architecture and open sky above him.

Oddly, there was another pile of bones and ash with a sword struck through it into the ground- a Bonfire, or so his sudden thought spiked him. His head gave two sharp throbs as a myriad of different scenes played out in his head, all places that _felt_ familiar, but not staying long enough for him to get a clear grasp of what he was seeing.

Attempting to focus on them made his head throb painfully, so he let up on the effort, and instead focused on what it was before him. It was like the one back at that ancient shrine he woke up in, but smaller, and the blade seemed even rustier, if not slightly smaller. Now, the only question was how to light it.

Bildnis simply waved Crocea Mors over the pile back at the shrine for it to alight, but he didn't have Crocea Mors on his person. Unconsciously, he found himself before the pile, and jumped almost violently as the Bonfire was set alight with lazy flames, his hands having raised over the hilt of the blade without his knowing.

Now with a comforting warmth and a sudden feeling of fatigue, he decided that taking a small bit of rest wouldn't hurt, especially with how he was so suddenly tired.

Staring into the flames, he found himself enraptured with the lazily crackling flames, and, despite being less than a foot away, his skin uncovered by his armor didn't feel hot or burning, but instead warm and comforting, like a warm blanket had wrapped itself around him, and the uncomfortable ground beneath him began to feel comforting.

He swore to all he knew that a bright, fiery orange haze began to overtake his vision, but it was gone as soon as he blinked. Odd.

Within moments, he felt rejuvenated, standing up and taking in the surrounding courtyard.

A rusting, paint-peeling set of doors in his front, a crumbling set of pillars, alongside still whole pillars to his sides, and the doorway he came from. Seeing no other way to go but forward, he gripped his broken, rusted blade and walked to the big pair of doors.

Not even checking if it was locked, or if it needed to be pulled open, his hands found their way to the rusted iron borders of the door, and pushed with all his body weight.

"Another courtyard…?" He muttered, one hand coming to his throat to massage the sharp tingling pain. No, it wasn't a courtyard, he noted by taking in the crumbling roof. It was pretty large, with the cloudy sky shining through the large, if crumbling ceiling. Walking in, he found it hard to look away from the clouds.

It felt like years since he's seen the sky, for whatever reason.

As his gaze fell forward to the lip of the roof, his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as the same, crocodilian beast from below jumped from the top of the crumbling foundation, bricks and chipped away bits of metal showered down as it landed, the same, black stone-like hammer clutched in its hands.

Gritting his teeth, Jaune's grip on his weapon tightened as the beast roared in challenge.

* * *

 _The Demon's Great Hammer;_

 _Demon weapon built from the stone archtrees. Used by lesser demons at North Undead Asylum._

 _This hammer is imbued with no special power, but can merrily beat foes to a pulp, providing you have the strength to wield it._

* * *

 **And finally getting into what this story now revolves around! Any questions can be sent to me via review or pm, if ya have any, and I'd be quite happy to answer them. I am quite happy to have a new chapter finally up, with great help from ma friend, Yang Xiao Longer.  
**

 **For reviewer LightSoul; yes, I do agree that it is funny, in a messed up sorta way, at least to me. Two immortal beings within the same body, one ancient one new, asshole gods, oh yes. Very crappy situation, but hey, since when was Dark Souls ever held any good? Sans Solaire, Priscilla and Siegmeyer, of course.**

 **Anyone else excited for Dark Souls 1 remastered? I sure am**


	7. Chapter 7: The Return of an Old Face

**I apologize for any spelling errors, possible repeats or any form of loss of focus in this chapter, school and grades have been getting to moi. Anyways, please read on!**

* * *

Jaune had never felt so outclassed in his life, the worst he'd ever imagined of facing would be stronger Hunter trainees, maybe the Grimm he couldn't kill with a sword to the chest. He didn't hold his combat skill in high regard, but he was quite confident that he could at the very least kill the weakest of the Grimm with only some difficulty, if he was smart and took his time.

Having dispatched all those Beowolves around Pyrrha, even if it was mostly one at a time, really fueled his confidence in fighting, even if he wasn't quite so certain if he could replicate those skills purposely.

But this? No matter of mysteriously sudden skill could help him, at least not as he is now. Maybe if he had his actual weapons, then maybe he could stand a chance. All he really needed was his brain and to keep out of the way of the massive hammer it wielded.

As it began to take slow, intimidating steps forward, monstrous claws for fingers slowly moving their grip along the shaft into a slow wind up for an attack, Jaune began backing up slowly with intent to escape back to the Bonfire. After all, there would be no way something so big could leave the roo-why'd he just stop?

Suddenly fearful, he turned his head just far enough for his gaze to flick from the slowly advancing beast to the doorway, but found himself shocked to see not an open doorway, not an enemy, not even closed doors, but a wall of slowly roiling _fog._

His mind worked fast, assessing his situation and grimacing at the pitiful weapon he held. _I'm not strong enough_ nor _am I well equipped enough to even dream of taking that thing on, and my only escape route is, wait._ His eyes roamed the crumbling room, latching onto a gate. An open gate. He gulped. _Only option I have at this point..._

The giant beast growled at the tiny Undead, lugging its fat legs towards the Cursed, hammer raised, ready to crush.

Fortunately, for all the things the beast had that outclassed Jaune, speed wasn't one of them. Why? Well, it was simple, really. Having monstrous strength and imposing, fortress like defense meant incredible weight, which heavily impeded any form of quick, distance closing options, regardless of how long one had it, or trained with it. Gravity _was_ quite a bitch at times.

And, quite fortunately for Jaune, this beast fit the slow, but monstrous category.

A hit would no doubt crush him, but it couldn't be fast enough to keep up with him, not if he stood directly within its range.

With his nerves now steeled and his breathing now coming in deep, slow breaths, his legs tensed as they began to move slowly, steadily bringing him to a run as the beast raised for an overhead strike.

With a grunt that bordered on adrenaline, fear fueled, running, he managed to clear the range it held with its weapon, but, unfortunately for him, he couldn't defend himself from the shockwave of the weapon striking the ground they stood on, as, instead of a large overhead strike to an area far from his current position, it instead turned the weapon around, massive stone head down, and slammed it into the ground in front of its feet.

Bouncing away on his stomach, he scrambled to get to his feet, sparing a panicked glance back to see the weapon had, luckily, lodged itself at an awkward position into the stone, forcing the beast to move back in order to lift it in an angle that wouldn't scrape, and slow it down, against the stone.

Not wasting any time, he pushed his feet against the uneven, cracked stone, launching himself through the gate as the beast began to charge into a lumbering run.

Jaune gave several pained grunts and wheezes as the air was stolen from his lungs from hard, cold stairs, his lunge having shot him not just through the open gate, but down the steps it would begin to descend. Ouch.

At the very least, he got through it _alive_ -or whatever counts as alive in his case-, so some extra pain was worth not being forced to fight that thing with a broken sword, of all things. What? Was he supposed to punch that thing to death? No amount of desperation or adrenaline would convince him to try _that._

Taking a few minutes to simply stare at the ancient ceiling above him, barely lit torches in their sconces flickering on either side of him, he let out a low groan as the ache from each hard edge of the steps finally made themselves more pronounced as he sat up. One hand came up to his head to massage it and at least try and help him not feel like his skull was cracking open like an egg.

His throat hurt, his body hurt running from some kind of weird monster, and he was beyond confused. What the hell was Bildnis thinking? He might have been able to push back and not be so easily manipulated by her had he not let his hormones run to his head and her casual aura not freeze him. Wait, aura…

Aura. He had Aura. The miracle power. Something all Hunters utilize, something that works as a weapon, shield and personal doctor, or so his father has told him. That was it, just use his Aura to heal him.

Now if only he knew how to do that…

Standing up, he looked back to the gate, seeing the smallest tip of the head of the creature as the angle he was at blocked it with the ceiling, and it tried to paw its way into the room. Thank everything it couldn't.

Aiming to get as far away as possible, he was beginning to think of ways he might be able to call upon his Aura, even beginning to politely ask for it to start up in his head, but he stopped as a familiar hilt and pile of ash took up his view within the new room.

That helps, he supposed.

Walking over, he raised his hand to the hilt, and just like earlier, it magically became a lazy flame. Sitting down, he decided to take the time he now had to try and manipulate his Aura, feeling the warm hazy hug the Bonfire brought as a good place to start.

He thought, feeling the warmth relax his muscles, the broken blade bouncing on his knee, one leg raised over the other in the same relaxed position from the other Bonfire. How could he call upon his Aura? Asking politely inside his head doesn't do anything, would meditation work? It sounded rather cliche, but it's not like it _couldn't_ be that simple, either.

He let out a long, low sigh, the worries about the monstrous beast above him slipping from his mind as he attempted to focus on the power he felt when it was awoken within the forest. What was that chant Pyrrha had said?

Something something 'unbound by death' something something. Should he be worried that the only line that came off the top of his head had something, obviously, to do with his Undead status? No longer bound by the laws of death, to forever walk the world as a body which housed an unbeating heart, yeah, that seemed to sum up what he was experiencing. Okay, so the chant probably didn't mean to quote the Undead curse, especially for the great Hunters, and he hasn't heard of any Huntsmen capable of coming back from death.

Focusing back on the forest, Jaune began to breathe evenly, his hand rhythmically tapping the broken weapon against his leg, the sounds of the world around him, how little there was, fading away to an incredibly muted dullness, yet the crackling of the flames in front of him seemed to get louder. Louder, and warmer, almost unbearably, but as he began to focus more on the forest, trying to conjure up the rest of Pyrrha's chant, he was able to ignore the heat.

 _Okay, okay, the forest...Pyrrha…'unbound by death'..._ He remembered just how quiet the forest was, how every other sound seemed to fade away, and as he focused on that, he began to chant that one line, 'unbound', within his head almost like a prayer, his focus melding the crackling of the flames with the calming silence the forest brought.

Unbound, to no longer be bound to a physical or metaphorical item, person or ideal, chains and locks no longer trapping one down to the realm of uncertainty, fear, and all that which would hold one back. Whether to be held back from their potential, their goals, their path, or the light at the end of the tunnel, to be unbound meant to not be chained, to no longer be held back.

It also meant to have no restraint, to let one roam free, for to be unbound meant to run rampant, free, with no barrier too strong and nothing to stop ones path. This could sow destruction and reap chaos, or it could plant the seeds for something noble, with the barriers of all those that would oppress the nobility of a goal to crumble away.

His breathing came out much slower, but deeper, much more relaxed, and if one were to watch, it would appear as if he had fell asleep, yet his hand still tapped the broken blade against his leg, and his head was filled with his new mantra of 'unbound by death'.

The crackling of the flame resonated within him, and he centered his attention on it, drawn in by its lazy, sleep inducing lull. He found every muscle relax to levels he had never experienced, and his mind, his fears and frustration, his attempts at rationalizing his situation, fade away, and something cool slithered to the top of his head, pooling down like water over a smooth surface.

Something cold and hot resonated in him, pulsating lazily, giving him a sense of freedom and a sense of clarity, and he could almost _see_ it, the mix of hot and cold, pure white tinged with streaks of snake like flame, shining deep within himself.

He did not know how long he sat there, almost religiously chanting that one line, and centering on the peace the forest brought, and the comforting lull the flame brought, how each crackle echoed in his head and brought a deep comfort to his very core, releasing a pleasantly conflicting wave of fire hot and ice cold, comfort and chill, heat and lazy lull.

When his eyes opened, he found his body in such a relaxed state that he almost forgot that he could move, and as he lifted his head to stare into the flames, he almost felt surprised at the feeling of his muscles doing their job, his neck running through natural motions of contracting, relaxing and steadying as he moved.

His eyes stared deep into the lazy red and orange, the rich, vibrant hues able to comfort him with their inviting warmth, yet he knew that no matter how cold he was, no matter how inviting it was, there was a reason his body reacted negatively to come into contact with it.

It could comfort him, relax and bring lovely life, yet it could burn him, lash out with a lazy attack, with the only lasting pain being from his own curiosity as he could, without anything but his own body to stop him, put his hand into the flame and watch as it burnt black and charred away.

How interesting, he mused. Something that could bring life and destroy in equal power. Something to be revered and learned to utilize, yet could also destroy and raze should it be left unsupervised.

As his focus came back, he noticed how the little room he sat in was brighter, and he let out a pleasant, lowly surprised hum as his body glowed white and fire orange and red, his hand grasping his broken weapon as his Aura coiled and slithered over his arm like a comforting snake, the rust seeming to fall away and reveal shining steel as it worked its power over life, restoring the blade to its former glory.

It was still broken, the blade couldn't be brought back from nothing after all, but it was...younger, if he had to say. The hilt was a standard dark gray, but it shone in the firelight, and the handle was no longer rough, but tough and a light metallic gray, as if it had just been finished. The small bit of blade that was left was a shining white steel that reflected his half dull eyes back to him.

He smiled, everything that had just happened finally clicking. His Aura was activated, it was pulsating, and as he stared at his hand, it grew a thick white coating as strands of fiery serpents coiled around each finger. It took a few moments, and it wasn't exactly what he'd say as mastered, but for just starting out, even he could tell that he was getting a good grasp on it.

Sure, he needed to actively focus on a certain area, and as he failed to bring it to his chest, his gaze still locked on his arm, he realized quickly that he needed to stare at the area he wanted it to travel to for it to actually travel there.

Disappointing, but practice existed for a reason.

Standing, he rolled his shoulders even as they felt more relaxed than ever, him letting out a low hum of pleasure as the now relaxed muscles felt perfectly warmed and pleasantly numbed, as if he had just undergone the worlds best massage.

He took a slow breath and gripped his now somewhat renewed blade, walking forward to find a crumbled wall within the further room, turning to see a long hall lined with crumbling walls and a collapsed roof, allowing access to the cloudy sky.

It was pleasantly chilly out, he liked it.

His eyes widened as an arrow lodged itself into the crumbled wall next to him, his eyes locking on to the Undead that shakily stood at the end of the path, the bow in its hand being pulled back as it lazily knocked another arrow, but it was quick enough for Jaune to realize the threat.

Aura or no, he didn't want to test just how long it could last, and while arrows may not be the worst threat there is, he didn't want to test what it could do to him, Aura or not.

And seeing as it managed to sink into solid brick, he didn't question the strength behind the walking corpse of an archer and its bow.

With no other path but forward, he took the slow amount of time the Undead took to notch another arrow to dash down the path, quickly stepping into a crumbled jail cell, safely out of the archers aim, unless it decided to come down the path.

His foot caught on something, giving off a loud clang from the metal covering his shin, and causing him to give a hiss as he tripped and fell. Standing, he looked down and felt a smile grow.

Rusted, dented and looking worse for wear, the heater shield strapped to the arm of an arrow riddle Undead lied there for the taking, and taking he did. With a good, if rather dirt encrusted, line of defense now on his arm, he cautiously began to peer around the rubble doorway, jumping back in as another arrow glanced off the doorway.

Taking a breath, he ran out as the Undead took out another arrow, preparing to stab the creature with his now restored broken blade, his arm tensed and prepared to jab forward.

A sharp clang came off the shield with a small few sparks as an arrow bounced off the defensive piece of metal, and the Undead, sensing the threat, turned and waddled off into a run down the rest of the path, branching to its right, away from the oncoming Jaune, and preparing for another ranged attack.

Stopping, Jaune took the moment to catch his breath, prepared to take off after the still fleeing archer almost a few seconds later, but stopping as his foot prodded something hard and bony.

Looking down, yet again did a smile grace his face as a somewhat rusted, and rather plain, longsword, grasped in a corpse's hand, met his eyes. Like with the shield, the sword found its way into Jaune's grip, and the dark blue leather sheath clipped to his belt.

Now better equipped, he replaced the broken blade by placing it back within its original, simple band of leather along his hip, securing the makeshift dagger as his backup weapon. He began to think this was rather easy, all things considered.

He hadn't gotten crushed by the giant beast thing, the archer missed terribly, and he's just been too slow to catch it before it waddled off. _At least I have real weaponry now,_ he thought as he rolled his shoulders.

Going up some stairs, he caught the Undead trying to pull out an arrow that was wedged in some loose bricks along the wall, but ultimately failed with a pitiful whine as Jaune's blade cleaved the head from its shoulders.

He was still, despite his attempts at ignoring it, perturbed by his lack of reaction to his situation. The act of killing two Undeads were not registering as anything important, his action of cleaving the head right off of its body only registered as the blade met resistance via bone, and the only real emotions he had felt so far was the fear from the giant hammer-beast and the calming state of focusing on his Aura.

Thin wisps of white ejected themselves from the Undead's corpse, slithering into Jaune's chest, giving that same feeling of comfort from his first encounter with killing an Undead.

He closed his eyes and released a relaxed sigh, the wisps of light giving a pleasant feeling almost like that of the Bonfires, only while it fades away, it remains present as a dull, small warmth within him, while the Bonfire' warmth fades completely when away from it.

His eyes opened and he gripped his weapon tighter, as the next door was encased within the same fog that blocked his escape from the hammer-beast. Turning around, he made one last search to make sure he had not missed any creatures were attempting to sneak up on him, and began to eye the "fog door", as he dubbed it, when he was sure enough that he was safe.

Curious, he reached out to touch it, as poking it with the blade of his weapon brought no negative reaction. His rusted shield was placed on his back, clipping onto one of the clips of his chest piece as his fingers began to gently, and hesitantly poke the doorway.

It felt _solid_ , his hand met resistance that was allowed forward and pushed back with each gentle

"wave" the fog gave off. Nothing vicious or threatening happened as he placed his palm against it, and after taking in and releasing a slow breath, he tensed his arm and pushed as hard as he can.

He nearly fell, catching himself into a stumble instead, as the fog began to give way, his hand arm pushing through as the fog faded into patches and then disappeared into quickly fading clouds of gray as he walked through into the next room.

He was in another hall again, great.

In front of him was a pile of rubble with just the outline of a doorway being visible, small bars of an orange rusted door poking through the pile. No going forward, it seemed.

He turned to his left and walked over to the balcony, overlooking the courtyard. The same courtyard that the Bonfire before the hammer-beast room resided.

Turning to the right, he came across a long flight of stairs up, with a flight of stairs going down right next to it.

Wanting to get as far away from the hammer-beast as possible, and out of the ancient fortress like dungeon as possible, he decided up. There has to be a way to the roof there, right?

He made it halfway up the stairs before the striking sound of something striking down the stairs sounded, and was forced off said stairs as a solid black ball bigger almost as big as him rolled down the stone steps, crashing into the wall behind him with a horribly loud crash.

Dazed and groaning in pain as the rough steps below him was his landing pad, his hand gingerly began to hold his aching head as it had cracked against one of the stone steps. No blood or pain of breakage, that was good, but it hurt like all hell.

He sighed in relief as his Aura began to flare around his back and head, the areas that took the brunt of the fall off the stairs. It was comforting, fanning around the pained areas like a hot flame, while clasping him in a gentle hug of soothing cold.

He looked to the crashed wall and went to investigate as it revealed a room he had yet to enter, and judging from the debris to his side, it belonged to the doorway that had been sealed off.

His eyes stopped at the sight of a knight lying against a pile of rubble in obvious pain, the helm quietly gazing at him, unseen eyes meeting fiery dull cobalt.

"Oh, you…you're no Hollow, eh?" The knight gasped and rested his head against the stone, something cold and hard welling within Jaune's chest as he looked over the knight. He felt almost unbearable sadness encompassed by hard sympathy.

Oscar let out a slow, pained wheeze as he gestured for Jaune to come closer, and after a moments hesitation, he sheathed his blade and walked towards the injured knight. Wait. ' _Oscar'?_

He shook his head and kneeled before the fallen knight, waiting patiently for him to speak.

"...Thank goodness…" The knight let out a small rasp, "I'm done for, I'm afraid…I'll die soon, then lose my sanity..." Something cold and startling spread throughout Jaune's chest, something painful, almost _physically_ painful, at those words.

Cold anger spread through Jaune's body, his gaze falling to the floor, and he felt his fist clench.

"...I wish to ask something of you…" Jaune's eyes snapped back to the knight, who was staring into Jaune's, almost making the boy flinch in their severity. "...You and I, we're both Undead...Hear me out, will you?" Jaune didn't feel like he could move away even if he wanted to.

Slowly, he nodded and the knight -Oscar- let out a pleased rasp of air.

"...Regrettably, I have failed in my mission…" Something about that string of words made Jaune freeze, his anger frozen over like an icy lake, and his eyes glazed over for a reason he could not place.

Failure...he knew about that. A lot.

"...But perhaps you can keep the torch lit…" Another rasp, "...There is an old saying in my family…" Oscar's voice went far away, tone resembling that of an old storyteller around a campfire, or perhaps that of an elder with a child in his lap, "...Thou who art Undead, art chosen...In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords...When thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the Undead thou shalt know."

Something about that felt so familiar to Jaune, and it resonated within him. Heh, almost like a _Bell,_ he allowed his inner voice to laugh dryly. He focused his gaze back on the knight, who had steadied his voice after two, slow breaths.

"...Well, now you know...And I can die with hope in my heart…" _Like_ Hell _he will_ , the invasive thought within Jaune bellowed. Jaune found himself agreeing with it. "...Oh, one more thing…" Jaune focused back on the helm.

"...Take this…" With a slightly shaky hand, the knight raised a flask filled with what appeared to be pure, liquid _fire._ It was a gorgeous gold, roiling lazily within its container, a simple cork atop it to prevent any spilling, and Jaune had to raised a hand to his head as _hundreds_ of images assaulted him at once.

He managed to make out several fields, what looked like a massive building filled with blue crystals, but like the memories from before, the slipped away and escaped his grasp, unable to decipher what they meant. But, he could gleam one solitary detail from each:

The golden bottle, held to his lips, and the pure comfort the roiling flames brought him, in a faint, memory like trance.

Unconsciously, his hand reached forwards and grasped the bottle gingerly, almost reverently as he cradle it within his hand.

He uncorked the top and took a slow whiff, the scent undescribable -the closest he could think of was a hot, absolutely _gorgeous_ orange scent tinged with pure bliss- before staring into the knight's eye slits of his helm, standing from his crouch and regarding the shape, design and pitiful look of the knight before him...

And then promptly began to poor the golden flames down the helm of the knight, watching him splutter and send the golden liquid pouring through the slits and neck of the helm, while also making wet coughs as he was forced to swallow the liquid.

Life seemed to be restored to the knight as he stood quickly, pawing at his helm before getting it off, coughing out spittle and golden droplets, face and hair soaked with sweat and golden droplets of liquid fire.

 _Estus,_ his mind conjured up.

"Wha-why-what is _wrong_ with you!?" Jaune simply raised one brow, unimpressed. Within his head, he questioned his unconscious move of nearly drowning Oscar, as well as his new demeanor, but found himself unable to care within the face of the flustered knight.

"'Why'? Why not because, oh I don't know, you are so _air headed_ as to _not drink your own Estus!"_ The words were his own, but they felt unfamiliar, almost sticky in his mouth, as if something else had spoken.

Or some _one._

Jaune shook his head as Oscar took a breath to rebuke Jaune, but Jaune's finger found itself poking the knight's chest, his face close to the flustered knight's as Jaune gave an uncharacteristic growl.

"You're a _knight,_ aren't you? What kind of _pathetic_ excuse for a knight allows himself to Hollow so _easily,_ because he fails _once!?"_ This odd, cold anger in Jaune felt odd, and honestly scared him a little, but he couldn't find the will to stop it.

"You come in here, giving me the _key_ to my cell, act all high and mighty, and yet are unable to use that slab of meat known as a _brain,_ to take even one little _sip_ of Estus to heal yourself, all because you got bested by something!? I thought knights were _tougher_ than that!"

He didn't really know where this anger was coming from, and as his face went red from the odd anger, he didn't realize just what he was saying after that, losing focus and unable to hear the rest as he managed to push Oscar against the wall via poking his chest.

When he came to, he was panting, and Oscar was staring at him quietly, eyes wide and body still. _Oh great_ , he thought, _way to go Jaune! Start shouting at the guy who probably has a hundred different reasons why he shouldn't go on! It's not like he's probably been around for this longer than you have!_

"You...you're right." Wait, what? Jaune blinked, and had he seen his face, he might have laughed at the rather comical expression he held, still red in the face yet finger raised and mouth open as if he was prepared to continue berating, or try and apologize to the, knight.

Oscar -he still didn't know how he knew his name, but many weird things have been happening recently, and he tried to push it to the back of his mind- simply lowered his gaze, frustration and loathing still there, but unlike the fiery coals they once had been, they were more like that of a cinder, still there yet being snuffed out slowly.

"The Bell of Awakening, I'm so sure why I gave up here...I only started now after all…" The last part was muttered, but Jaune was close enough to hear it, yet he managed to morph his expression to that of a poker face, nodding slowly.

A few moments passed, and Jaune began to feel awkward as the knight was lost in thought, gaze penetrating the floor. Jaune was about to speak when Oscar made the first move.

Oscar raised his head, a fire stoked back into his eyes, yet they burned of determination, not loathing. Jaune blinked as he finally took a time to look at the man, and was surprised to see he was rather young. Dull gold hair, pale blue eyes, a youthful, tanned face, and a somewhat childish pout as he grumbled, hands fumbling with his rather beautiful sword as he got into a straighter, more determined stance.

At about the same height as Jaune, they could pass of as brothers, if he was honest. Oscar had to be in his early twenties at most, mostly because of the voice, but the face looked like that of a teenager who had just settled from puberty. He was rather normal, Jaune was expecting facial hair, or maybe scars.

The knight's weapons and armor was also rather interesting.

Dull gray armor the covered his arms, chest, legs and his back, as Jaune could see, with a tabard -or at least what he thinks is a tabard, he always preferred the modern trend of armor for aspiring warriors born outside kingdom walls, like what he wore- emblazoned with the sigil of some sort of house or guild, yet it was torn and the armor around the chest was dented and looked mighty uncomfortable with the damage it held.

Jaune found the sword he wielded to be beautiful, with a golden, curled hilt and masterfully forged silver-white blade, the hilt a dark blue...wait. That looked like Crocea Mors. _Really_ looked like Crocea Mors...but the shield was far to thin and long to be the sheathe-shield that came with Crocea Mors, and it held the symbol of a golden lion in medieval style, while the rest was a calming blue.

Perhaps a replica? He didn't want to label the poor knight off as a thief, he was surprised that the knight hadn't decided to react violently towards Jaune, who had all but assaulted and berated an injured man with his own reasons, reasons Jaune didn't understand, yet he did.

Something that was both physical and intangible, there yet unconscious, agreed coldly with the knight. He understood Oscar's want to give up, yet he didn't. Odd.

He stopped admiring and felt his thoughts slip away as Oscar placed his sword into his sheath, making a fist and pounding his fist against his chest. A salute, he thought. He was caught off guard because he had never been on the receiving end of one, nor has he ever seen another person actually salute like that.

With a blink, Oscar stopped and rested his hand on the handle of his sword, looking through the crushed wall Jaune had entered through. Looking to the entrance, an Undead with a rusted broadsword had wandered in, eyeing the two slowly before raising its weapon and charging them clumsily.

Caught by surprise by the sudden, rather fast charge for a walking corpse, he fumbled to draw his sword, but found the weapon unnecessary as Oscar had cleaved clean through the neck and through one shoulder, effectively killing the Undead, at least for now.

While insane, he wasn't willing to wait and see if the Undead would stand back up and resume its attack any time soon.

"Well...good job." Was his dumb comment on the once soon-to-be-dead knight's quick speed in draw and attack. He had heard of a method of quick draw like that, but he thought they were for katanas and other curved weapons. Guess straight swords work as well.

Oscar looked back to Jaune and nodded in thanks, placing his helm back on and clearing his throat.

"Yes, well, I do believe it is time to leave this place, wouldn't you agree…?" Jaune blinked, and after a moment let out a small 'oh'.

Mimicking Oscar's previous salute, Jaune stood straight and spoke, "My name is Jaune Arc, Hunter aspirant." He figured adding something of a title alongside his name would make more sense, rather than just a short address of his name.

Oscar nodded, flexing his fingers along the handle of his Crocea-lookalike and clearing his throat, "I am Oscar of Astora, knight and searcher of the Chosen." Something of that ending name echoed in Jaune's head, and he felt a warmth of recognition pass through him.

It felt nice, and the title held some weight within his head, but he couldn't figure out why. His odd sense of elation was then crushed by a muted, cold anger tinged with aching melancholy that almost made Jaune want to fall to his knees and weep. Why, he could not place, but he took a slow, almost shuddering breath that brought a slight concern into Oscar's helm covered eyes, but he did not voice anything as Jaune straightened and drew his sword and rusted shield, indicating with a forward shrug of his shoulder for them to continue on their way.

Jaune just hoped that Pyrrha was okay.

* * *

Trees snapped and crashed into the forest floor, sending splinters flying and sending Pyrrha forward from the impact of a branch, forced to roll to the side as a splinter of tree trunk slammed into the ground where she once was.

Pyrrha was not okay. Oh most _definitely, not okay!_

The Deathstalker skittered forward, mandibles clacking together as attempted to grab her within one of its massive claws. She bit her lip, forcing herself to run in the other direction of Jaune's body, hoping that _whatever_ brought him back before would make him stand again, and he'd be smart enough to head for relics, aka, follow the path of destruction.

She'd just have to hope and then apologize if she can get out of this.

Trees passed and loud snaps of wood and bone claws sounded behind her, the small tingles of hundreds of splinters bouncing off her Aura giving her a boost of speed, her heeled boots leaving a trail of crushed twigs and dirt in her wake, which was quickly crushed or sent flying by a multi-legged overgrown bug.

Spying a pile of boulders and some thicker trees than the rest, she veered off to the side, ducking below a sideways reaching claw that attempted to squeeze her head from her body.

Milo and Akouo were sturdy weapons, the pair having served her faithfully in taking down both Grimm and human competition, even her first -shudder- kill, but she couldn't help but wish she had listened to her Grandmama's advice and trained with some _heavier_ weaponry.

Speed was good in a fight, but her bullets could only do so much, and she didn't hold much confidence in her skills being able to kill an _Elder_ Deathstalker of all things. Despite its age, and knowledge from countless years of surviving human offense, it was still bound by mindless rage for the still grief-struck girl, and wouldn't let up in its chase.

Although, it did seem smart enough to try and use its surroundings to its advantage, but sadly, for it, it was unable to turn without sliding against the dirt as it skidded to a stop, claws aiming to crush the red headed girl.

Pyrrha took advantage of the extra time, using it to slow down and allow the Deathstalker to come within striking range, and just as it came back to its original speed, Pyrrha leaped over the rocks with a boost of her semblance flinging the metal on her body added with her Aura infused legs, soaring over the boulders, and letting her plan come to fruition.

That being the Deathstalker slamming its face into the rocks, the claws having spread wide in an attempt to crush her in a bone breaking hug, and snapping the trees, sending them in a slow fall onto the back of the stunned bug.

 _Huh,_ she thought, _didn't think it'd actually work._ She wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth though, taking the chance to sprint back in her original direction, leaving the dizzied Deathstalker in an angered heap, attempting to remove the large trees that had pinned both its tail and arms of its claws.

Breaking from the tree line only a few moments later, she spotted the top of some crumbling ruins, as well as a shock of long golden hair and a waterfall of jet black hair, both attached to girls, with the blonde one seeming to appreciating the craft of a...chess piece?

Only slowing her run so that she'd stop comfortably by the two initiates, she waved a hand in greeting as they greeted her, taking the peace to catch her breath and relax her aching legs, letting her Aura soothe down the lactic acid in her limbs.

She was used to fighting, not running through uneven forest with a Deathstalker on her heels! Speaking of heels...maybe she should listen to her father and get rid of them...the heels almost made her trip on loose roots and clumps of grass.

She hoped Jaune was okay.

* * *

Letting out a noise that was most definitely _not_ a shriek, why would you think that?, Jaune was sent flying back into the wall, Oscar letting out a grunt as he was also sent back, but only sent back skidding on his heels, managing to catch himself before he fell.

 _Why did I suggest aiming for the head!?_ Looking up, Jaune could see his straight sword lodged into the shoulder of the beast, his body aching after landing roughly on the beasts horned head, as well from the strike he was forced to block.

Looking to his broken sword, he let out a sigh of frustration, gripping his hair in an almost-temper tantrum.

 _Oh well,_ he thought, _only he who perseveres is rewarded...but why did I have to fight this thing!?_ The Asylum Demon let out a snort, as if having heard his thoughts.

* * *

 _Astora's Straight Sword_

 _Straight sword of an unknown knight,_

 _likely one of Astora's superiors._

 _High-quality weapon with a powerful blessing._

* * *

 **And cut! Hope this chapter makes up for the wait! Again, thanks to my partner/friend, Yang Xiao Longer, who I dub Yangey Bear. Why? Because I read a fanfiction with it some time ago and I like it.**

 **Deal with it Yang.**

 **To one March2Dis, as for pairings, well, I** _ **am**_ **going for a good ole Priscilla lovey dovey thingy with Jaune (she deserves more love than she got in game), but yeah, Pyrrha is a definite contender for Jaune's affections.**

 **She may have to get a little...mentally detached for it, but Pyrrha is almost completely Jaune-sexual, so if she needs to get into a little necrophilia (since Jaune** _ **is**_ **technically a corpse), then we all know Pyrrha will do it.**

 **She's that kind of girl, almost yandere/dere dere-ish. Not the killer type, but the kind who will find a way to get with Jaune one way or another!**

 **That and Arkos has always, and will always, be my number one favorite ship with Jaune, Lancaster coming second, and now this with Priscilla. Scythed Knight? Cursed Dragon? Eh, I'll figure out a name for those two at some point.**

 **To Shashenka and SolidShinji104 (I believe I replied to you both, but my messages are being finicky so I can't really check), yes, Jaune will be keeping items obtained within the Memories (I'll have to keep some things unobtainable for Jaune, and those that are will be things that can be forged or found at some point or another, and yes, I do plan for each Dark Souls to have some form of impact on this world of Remnant.**

 **If I missed anyone or repeated responses to anyone, I apologize, again, my messages are being finicky, and I am half asleep more often than not thanks to SAT studies, but enough of my excuses, I do hope you all enjoyed my chapter and please, feel free to critique and/or review!**


	8. Chapter 8: Beginnings of the Talk

The crocodilian beast roared in furious agony as Oscar's blade pierced its softer underbelly, the knight having taken charge and rammed the blade as deep as he could get, which was luckily in between one of the beast's rolls of stomach fat, allowing the blade to be ran through to the hilt.

Unfortunately, this attack brought a grave consequence, for he couldn't remove his sword. As punishment for this attack, the creature swiftly turned to the side, dragging Oscar with it and sending the poor knight flying into a pillar.

Jaune swore, his grip on his broken sword tightening so hard that he could feel his bones creak against the handle. Things weren't looking very good.

The plan started in the hopes of taking it out as quick as possible by aiming for the lipless head, driving their weapons into the eyes, the neck or any vital area of the landing. Unfortunately for them, the beast had rather short, almost skinless wings that allowed it to move away in such a well timed move that the plan fell apart just as it began.

At least Jaune had scored first blood, the weapon still lodged in its shoulder. He was _somewhat_ useful at least.

Gulping, he ran for the beast, slashing at it with his broken blade, drawing gashes and shallow cuts around the joints of its legs, and most importantly, drawing its attention from the now groaning Oscar.

Seeing as Oscar was the more capable fighter, he had let Jaune hold onto the Estus Flask, believing he may need it more than he would. It stung to agree with, but there wasn't any way he could refute the knight's claim.

With a low growl that sounded like the bellow of a hot forge mixed with a gravel, it turned, beady eyes glaring into Jaune's from atop a body of fat and muscle.

Slamming the head of its massive hammer into the floor with speed that far surpassed its looks, Jaune was forced to use his shield to defend against the pieces of brick sent his way, lest he get a messy end at the hand of the aftershock of the attack.

Once more, he grunted.

 _The damn thing is way too strong, and I only have this tiny blade!_ His eyes fell to the slowly, painfully rising knight as he attempted to regain his bearings. _Can't get the Flask to Oscar…tch, gotta keep it off him for now…_

Jaune's eyes fell to the blade wedged in the fat of the monsters stomach, and he grinned even as panic attempted to override the freezing calm that was keeping him moving.

Maybe if he could get the blade out, maybe then the fight would go their way! With a suicidal resolve, Jaune dashed forward, ignoring the warning that was the bestial growl of the monster and attempting to grab the handle of the sword in its gut.

 _ **Left!**_

 _What the!?_

Jaune didn't get the luxury to question it as his world became dark and a mind numbing pain filled him, before it faded quickly to silencing bliss.

And then replaced by lazy crackling.

Jaune groaned as the heat and cold conflict returned to him, and the darkness alleviated from utter blindness to the darkness of simply having one's eyes closed. His chest hurt like Hell...he had died, hadn't he?

He should really be worried about that, but he couldn't find it in him to care. He shook his head at the realization. Yes, he should definitely be worried.

Opening his eyes, fire tinged dull cobalt widened as he gazed into the abyss like sockets of a midnight black knight's helm, with elegant armor just as black, but not naturally. As he gazed at it, tearing his eyes down from the helm to take in the appearance of the new arrival, the more he could see that the black color was more of the result of it having weathered a powerful fire rather than by design.

The entire thing was burnt black.

Elegant flowing grooves and plates overlapped dark gray chainmail, with an exaggeratedly long black metal collar rising up to protect the neck from the sides. Symbols and grooves formed fantastical patterns that were displayed elegantly within the firelight, yet it held a dark, almost sinister appearance in its burnt state, with the clawed fingers and cold silence of its wearer giving Jaune a horrible sense of unease.

And familiarity.

The pitch black gaze from the helm gave way to smouldering orange fires of eyes, but Jaune was so lost in his fearful confusion that he could not register it as anything but sinister in the way they glowed like hot embers.

The helmet was odd. It appears to have been reforged, with the top being that of a metal wolf's head, but the bottom having been altered to that of a traditional closed knight's helm.

A slow tapping noise brought Jaune back down to Remnant.

Clawed fingers slowly tapped against equally black metal leggings as the man was sat squat before Jaune, whose back was steadily cramping as it rested against the broken wall of...the courtyard?

Oh yeah, he died. Didn't he just point that out?

"You...I suppose I must...explain...to you...what is...happening..." The voice was just as gravelly as Jaune had expected, but incredibly raspy and spaced out, as if he wasn't used to speaking, a very hesitant way of speech. But what was surprising was the calm, almost incredibly curious, knowing and reassuring, tone the man held. For someone who looked like a night terror come to existence, he sure could calm one down with a few words.

Wait.

"Yes, *cough*, I do have questions." Jaune winced, a hand rising to his neck in pain. Gods, was his throat _always_ going to hurt like this?

"But...later…" Jaune raised his eyes to the fiery orange of his raspy company, about to show just how irate he was about being denied this _yet again_ , but before he could, he heard the tell tale roar of the crocodile beast he and Oscar had been fighting. Wait, Oscar!

He left him all on his own! Granted he wasn't able to help much in the fight, but effort counts, right?

Shaking his head, he stood up, feeling his spine crack and creak pleasantly as they were no longer uncomfortably hunched over, facing the Bonfire. His hand fell to his belt instinctively, and he froze for a second in surprise as his hand fell atop the handle of a familiar weapon, whose weight was suddenly being registered in his sheathe.

The sword he had lost to the beast's shoulder was magically back in its scabbard, and Jaune would not question his luck.

Looking to his silent audience, he noted how the man seemed to flicker in the glow of the fire. He would've questioned it, but the fact that Oscar was facing the beast alone was at the forethought of his mind, the new member into this incredibly odd day forgotten.

"Oscar…" Jaune turned to face the burnt black knight, his attention peaked at the odd tone his raspy voice held. It sounded so...far away. The reforged wolf helm turned to face Jaune, and the fiery embers that felt so familiar yet so terrifying pierced Jaune's.

"Save him...where I failed." Does, does the knight know Oscar? His tone was solid with seriousness, and despite the rasping pause here and there between words, Jaune felt as if he was being spoken to by a drill sergeant, each rasp a shout, and each pause the spittle flying in his face.

"I shall...aid you...do not...fear...I am your, *breath in*, eyes." And with that, the knight shimmered and scattered into shadows in the light of the flame, and Jaune was left staring at an empty spot of the courtyard. He sighed.

 _No time to question it Jaune. Let's get moving._

Turning to the doorway, he wasn't surprised to see the wall of roiling fog in his way, but remembering the doorway within the prison itself, he took long strides forward, his hand rising to the fog with a confidence the rest of him didn't feel.

As the fog fell away and he was able to force his way through, he stumbled for a second as it reformed behind him, almost forcing the scabbard from his belt as it pushed on him. Huh, that's a thing now.

 _ **Focus. The hammer...must be avoided.**_

 _What in-! Oh, that's what you meant by 'I am your eyes', isn't it?_ At least he has some back up...and some assurance that he wasn't imagining the black knight, although he wouldn't ignore that possibility of that being the case.

 _ **Yes. I shall...watch over you...and no, I am...real.**_

Jaune sighed at the childish yet cold tone the last sentence the knight-voice said, tightening his grip on his blade as he wrenched it from the sheath. Tightening his hold on his shield, he broke into a sprint towards the fight, where Oscar seemed to have gotten his sword from the belly of the beast, and was trying to dash in between large sweeping swipes of the massive hammer.

 _You, and Bildnis are both answering my questions when this is over._

 _ **If I can…**_

Jaune ended his his sprint with a leaping with a strong overhead swipe of his blade, managing to score a cut across one of the gashes Oscar had scored earlier. The beast roared as the blade bit into the tendon in the back of its leg, managing to drive it onto one knee, but also trapping his sword within its leg as it kneeled.

Oscar took the opportunity to dash forward, stabbing his sword into the forearm of the beast, twisting his blade with a feat of strength and forcing the beast to let go of the hammer, Jaune circling around quickly after managing to slide the sword out from its meaty prison and a rasping bark from the knight-voice told him to.

His sword stabbed towards the arm of the beast, and to his shock, despite it digging into the arm, it stopped quickly, forcing him to try and stop as he slid forward, his arm gripping the blade being raised awkwardly as the blade refused to budge.

 _ **No good...too weak...must work on...that.**_

Jaune bit his lip in order to not vent his frustration. All this and apparently he's too weak as well? Greaaatttt…

The beast roared in fury as the sudden pain and slashes taken to its leg and arms forced it to drop the massive hammer it had grown to cherish, reveling in the crunch of bones and flesh it gave as it slammed into Undead foolish enough to try and fight it. Much like that one Undead earlier, but like a rodent, it had come back and sunk its tiny fangs with a surprising bite into it as it arrogantly began swiping at the much more competent rat.

As the hammer dropped from its grasp, it felt a power it had thought lost years ago well up within its crocodilian skin chest, unaware that the arrogance of its hammer and monstrous strength had caused it to unconsciously reject the power that flowed through it, and stood, although wobbily.

Jaune smirked at the beasts wobbling, maybe he could do this.

 _ **BACK!**_

Jaune was confused and winced at the sudden shout from the knight-voice, but heeded the warning, although not quick enough. Slamming into the broken brick floor, Jaune felt his world spin and the mother of all headaches take root in him as he was sent flying back, a hauntingly pitched echo of a screaming _woosh_ of air registering into his mind a second later as the last vestiges of a blood red _force_ of air escaped the slug like body of the hammer beast.

Coughing up blood, Jaune heard the painful rasps of the knight-voice telling him to stand, and as he wobbily got to his feet, he grew horrified as the beast stood with confidence, flowing red lines visible under its fleshy white underbelly, and a disgusting smirk on its lipless face.

With the arm Jaune had slashed at, it reached down and grasped the pole of its monstrous hammer, dragging the weapon behind it as it slowly and purposefully stalked forward towards Jaune.

Jaune was too dazed, and with a crack, fell to his knees as his left shin snapped, the force of the weird attack from the beast having twisted his leg horribly.

Unable to move, he sat there on his knees, eyes closed tight as he awaited the blow from the beast that would inevitably send him back to the Bonfire, to fight the beast once more.

Why...why him? He felt something cold in his chest become like ice, and a feeling of great despair befell him. Would, would he have to do _this_ over and over again? He couldn't do this! How could he, _him,_ possibly do this!

He should've listened to his father, and stayed back home outside Mistral's boundaries, he should've never left to be a Huntsman!

Awaiting the hammer blow to fall, he wasn't disappointed as he was sent flying back, but as he collided with a pillar, he grew confused. He...wasn't dead? Despite the pain, he opened his eyes, and they widened into dinner plates at the sight before him.

It was Oscar, bloodied, his helmet cracked and shoulder plate having been wrenched off, by the blast no doubt, his breathing ragged as he sunk his blade to the hilt into the underbelly of the beast, having made it lean onto its leg Jaune had slashed into, and no doubt being the cause for it having missed Jaune.

The beast wasn't planning on letting the rodent savor this.

With a growl of utter fury, the beast wrenched back the hammer, lifting it up and _slamming_ the end of the pole into Oscar's chest.

Jaune felt something inside him slowly tighten at that, and the knight-voice's cold silence only twisted it further. He...he failed.

Dull blue eyes widened as the chill within him made him numb, and, ignoring the pain in his broken leg, slowly began to hobble towards the beast, his eyes locked onto the face of Oscar, a massive trail of blood staining his mouth and floor beneath him as he lied unmoving beneath the beast.

Not even making it a quarter of the way there, the beast slid the pole of the hammer across the floor, Oscar still attached, and flung him towards a pillar, where he collided into it with a sickening crack.

Jaune snapped. Flames burned behind his eyes, horribly cold and volcanic-ly hot, and his sight went hazy behind black flaming tendrils in his vision.

 _ **KILL IT!**_

What terrified Jaune through his fiery rage was that that wasn't knight-voice's words in his head, but his own, distorted but noticeably his voice. The thoughts of fear were quickly burned, along with all senses of pain, and every spike that shot through his broken leg was no longer registered as a breakage, but instead as a spike of fury that traveled to his unbeating heart.

His sword raised, and the beast roared in pain as the shining silver steel came down in a fluid arc, cutting into the beast's abused stomach like a hot knife through butter. What was not registered in his brain was how each stroke of the blade sent a streak of glittering green light with it, and how each thud and shake of his arm seemed to only make him swing more savagely than before.

Fire roared in his ears and ice gripped his chest, the need for air and rest no longer registered in his brain, and as his muscles tore and the bones in his arms snapped, he still swung his green glowing blade.

Within moments, the beast fell to its knees, the ability to stand lost as one leg was severed at the knee, and the other was still only attached by strands of meaty muscle and flesh. It's only method of staying upright was to use its long hammer as a crutch, and it feebly attempted to stab the rage fueled Undead with the pole end.

Jaune felt something along side the fury spread throughout his body, a cold vine coiling around something within his chest -his heart?-, and he felt saw through the blood red haze of his sight the beast finally fall, and only when he was left standing in a cloud of white particles did he finally stop swinging, the sword scratched and blunted, blood and gore coating his frame, and his eyes a blazing inferno of orange.

Without his knowledge, he had grabbed something as the beast exploded into the white particles, which soon slithered into him like comforting serpents, and he was left clutching a thin fiery white orb that trailed up like a long candle flame, but much more chaotic and broiling.

The orb burned his hands, but even as he attempted to take the time to admire it, and attempt to rationalize what had happened, his hands began to squeeze without his consent, and as his eyes widened in panic, the soul burst in a burning orange-white stream of clumped particles, slamming into his chest and forcing the most painful burning sensation Jaune had ever felt begin to _brand_ itself inside his chest.

Something thick and heavy began to coil within his arms, and as it built up he crossed them in front of his chest, hugging into himself as the pain threatened to cause him to burst. His eyes opened as a gasp of utter agony escaped him, and as the pressure reached its peak within his arms, he let out a familiar, haunting scream as blood red energy sent broken brick and chips of wood flying, violent and chaotic.

The pain proved too much, and he found his vision fading to black...is that a crow?...

* * *

Coming to his senses, Jaune blinked, falling to his knees as he wretched, vomit pooling onto the mossy cobblestone floor, his eyes throbbing something fierce and his mind a fuzzy mess of pins and needles, his chest burning like ice, oddly enough.

"What...was that!?"

"That was merely a glimpse of the power you had attained once." Jaune stayed on his knees, his throat burning raw. Only after a pleasant tingling wrapped around and inside his neck eased the pain -his Aura, as he realised a second later-, was when stood up, albeit shakily. He hadn't gotten to look at Bildnis as she spoke, but he could tell from the tone that she seemed content, if tinged with a small amount of concern.

He was halfway up when a strong, hard hand clamped down on his arm and lifted him up fully, but not unkindly. Looking at his helper, Jaune gulped as his eyes met the same wolf like helm of the black knight before staring back, and the fiery orange orbs of eyes seemed to burn like literal flames, leaving small trails of orange to rise up past the orbs and into the shadows of the helm.

Jaune took a step back, taking a deep breath as a wave of cold calm swept through his chest, letting the breath out slowly as his throat no longer threatened to make him cough blood.

"Alright, I'm good, I'm good…" Jaune took another second to compose himself, standing straight and his eyes flickering from the black knight before him to Bildnis, who was standing by the Bonfire...of whatever this place was. He still hadn't gotten the name.

The black knight walked across the moss and grass covered stone, sitting against the lip of a well with only the clicks of his metal heels against the floor to signify his sudden change. Jaune clenched his fist as the two practical strangers exchanged a glance for several seconds, Bildnis's hidden gaze and emotionless expression giving away nothing while the Black, as he decided to call him, simply clenched and unclenched his clawed hands slowly, one slowly twitching towards his hip, as if searching for a weapon. After several seconds, they turned their attention to Jaune himself.

He would get his answers. Now.

Taking a seat on the steps, Bildnis walked back to her boulder by the shattered wall, taking a seat quietly, but never taking her unseen gaze off of Jaune.

"I want answers. No teasing me with it, no pushing me over ledges-" He didn't miss the sharp look Black gave Bildnis, if the sudden turn of his helm to the woman and clenching of his clawed fists signified anything, confusing Jaune greatly, "-you're telling me what I want to know."

Bildnis nodded, her hands clasping over her bandaged covered lap, "Of course, Jaune, ask what you will." Odd, she didn't call him 'Little Ash'. Eh, it wasn't a big deal.

"First...what is this place?" Bildnis seemed to find his question funny, but stopped her small giggles as both Jaune and Black leveled annoyed glares at the scantily covered woman.

"This is Firelink Shrine, home to the Firekeepers and safe haven for the brave Undead who undertake the Journey to rekindle the Flame." Black seemed to _radiate_ hate at the mention of the Flame, whatever it is.

"Alright, so why have I never heard of this place? I highly doubt any archaeologist would leave this place alone…" The lands of the Time before Aura have been one of the most sought after mysteries to exist, second only to the mysteries that Aura holds and the 'how' to end the Grimm once and for all, so surely an old time relic such as this place wouldn't be so overlooked, especially if it has an inhabitant like Bildnis, right?

"The answer to that question, Jaune, is both simple and difficult to explain." Jaune cocked his head to the side and motioned with his hand for Bildnis to continue. "To put it simply, Firelink Shrine isn't a... _part_ of the world, as it is perceived by the mortals that inhabit it." That...wasn't exactly simple.

"So, what? It's some kind of, I dunno, separate world?" Bildnis began to shake her head, but stopped. "I suppose that is one way to look at it.

"Firelink Shrine is, in the best way I can explain it, an anchor. An anchor that connects to all probable realities." She reached to the ground and lifted up two twigs, holding both in between her fingers, "Take my hand, it is the anchor, and the twigs, two realities. Without my hand to hold it there, the twigs would simply fall to the ground. Wherever my hand goes, the twigs follow, such as where Firelink goes, the realities also follow." Okay...he kind of got it?

"Simply put, it exists outside of the influence of time and reality, while also connected to all probably realities of time and reality." Magic, got it.

Jaune shook his head, a wry smile on his face. His day is just getting better and better...first he's some kind of monster from legend, and now a time breaking shrine? Sigh.

"Alright, and why am I Undead? I mean, every child born outside the protection of the Kingdoms has heard of them, but everyone thought they were simply a myth-" Black flinched at that, "-so why me? And don't Undead never die? Why have we never seen any?" Bildnis simply turned her gaze to Black, who pointedly never looked up from the ground, his clawed fists resting on his chainmail skirt.

"I suppose to answer that, we should delve into a bit of history." Bildnis stood up, and cupped her hands before her stomach, walking silently around the Bonfire in the center of the ring of steps, raising one tattooed hand before the hilt of the coiled sword, and to his and Black's surprise, the tattoos wavered and a drop of black hit the handle, sizzling as it touched the hot metal.

Instead of sizzling in the flames, it instead began to expand, slithering around the sword and turning the flames a steadily darkening gray. As the last tips of the lazy flames became a steadily darkening gray, the steps around it, including the air, began to shimmer and become hazy.

Jaune's eyes widened, and he was quite certain Black's did to, as a large sphere of shimmering energy encased the now dark gray flames, solidifying into the same fog that had encased the doorways from the prison he had just fought through.

Instead of darkening, the solid fog cleared and instead began to reveal an image...giant trees? Before he could ask, Bildnis spoke once more.

"In the Age of Ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog." The fog cleared away to reveal a barren land, gray and cracked, with thick clouds in the sky where the numerous gray trees speared through the sky, the middles of the tree probably way past the cloudy skies.

"A land of gray crags, archtrees...and everlasting dragons." Fading to a view that rose up something gray and solid, Jaune unconsciously clenched his fists as a pair of large, stone like wings and a thick, long, hairy neck reached curling white horns and a still, monstrous face.

Bildnis had walked behind the orb, blocking their view of her, and yet their eyes were glued to the orb, but they could clearly hear her voice as it began to take on a haunting story teller tone.

"But then there was fire...and with Fire, came Disparity." The orb dived into an 'archtree', becoming pitch black except for a few sparks of flame. "Heat and cold, life and death, and of course...:Light and Dark."

The orb suddenly panned into the bottom of the tree, revealing a great cavern filled a line of bright, steadily burning fire...a great fire.

"Then, from the Dark, They came," Horrifically skinny humanoids began to stand, warily, unsteady, and yet they all began to stare into the Fire, their silhouettes steadily growing in number, "and found the Souls of Lords within the flame."

At this, the shadowy sludge of the floor within the orb began to shift, revealing the shadows to be a long coat of matted, rough black hair...over a humongous skeleton. With one large skull framed by several smaller skulls, a chest made of several dozen rib cages and full skeletons, and within it's black hair matted bone hand, a small but incredibly powerful looking line of fire within its grasp.

"Nito, the first of the dead," Now the orb revealed a dark skinned woman covered in dark robes, only the bottom half of her face revealed as her gold lined hood and robes covered all but her lower face and hands, which were burned something horrible, as another powerful flame was held within her hands. Surrounding her were seven figures, all in a seated reverence to the woman, two holding long staves.

"The Witch of Izalith, and her Daughters of Chaos," The new image made Jaune jump, both as a rising sense of hostility rose in his chest, and a low, dangerous growl escaped the confines of the wolf helm of Black.

It was a man, with a long golden crown atop his head of long white hair, with a regal set of robe like armor, and a huge, incredibly powerful looking orb of flame in front of his clasped hands. Behind him, what had to be thousands of silver clad warriors stood at attention, their long helms revealing nothing and elegantly forged silver swords clasped in their hands. Jaune could barely breathe, more from the steadily rising anger that came from Black, and Jaune's slowly rising, but relatively low, hostility.

"Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight, and his faithful knights,..." The next view showed dirt, slightly burned hands holding a puny, almost ember like flame within them. "And the furtive pygmy, so easily forgotten…" Jaune felt something inside him stir as he looked upon this puny, silhouetted figure before the great flame. Something cold, familiar.

"With the Strength of Lords, they challenged the dragons." A silver knight, as he took to calling them, with the view centered upon his elegantly carved gauntlet and beautiful silver sword, readied himself before a rising dragon, which bore four wings, and seemed to be like that of a giant before an ant.

Jaune did not doubt that the knight failed.

With a primal roar from the dragon, the view again changed to Gwyn, rising back as a _bolt of lightning_ formed in his closed hand, several hundred much tinier bolts in the hands of the knights behind him, being thrown towards a steadily growing murder of dragons within the sky.

"Gwyn's mighty bolts peeled apart their stone scales." As scales, horns and pale flesh began to be revealed from each dragon struck by the lightning, Jaune, and a reluctant Black, could not help but feel impressed by the display.

"The witches weaved great firestorms." And the great trees burned, their tips now visible within the burning lands, piles of burning ash and shattering archtrees filling the orb, with the seven Daughters kneeled behind the Witch, waving their staves.

"Nito unleashed a miasma of death and disease." The skeleton lord, as he appeared, raised a scythe like blade as the ground before him rotted and a wind was propelled from his body, sending burnt scales, bark and ash everywhere.

The next view greatly surprised Jaune, as a sense of familiarity struck him much like it did for the others that were introduced within the orb, a fleshy beast crushing a pile of fragile scales within a bloody, fleshy hand. The view then panned out, revealing a dragon, but this one bare of stone like scales, and bearing four beautiful, frail looking wings, and yet no visible legs, sitting atop a pile of dead and flaking dragons.

It roared, and Jaune shivered.

"And Seath the Scaleless betrayed his own, and the dragons were no more." The view faded to white, revealing a beautiful kingdom encompassed by a circular wall, and built into a rising mountain, the gray and lifeless wasteland from before now green and lush.

Jaune bit back his surprised gasp as the architecture from the massive castle like structures atop the rising mountain resembled that of the architecture of Beacon immensely. Perhaps Beacon took after them?

"Thus began the Age of Fire. But soon, the flames will fade, and only Dark will remain." Whatever Bildnis was going to say after this died and abrupt end, as Black gave a shout of pure, unbridled anger, a dagger flying from his black claws, from somewhere, and flying into the orb, dispersing it in a show of white and multiple grand colors, revealing the dagger buried into the stone pillar next to Bildnis, who revealed no outward emotion yet never looked away from Black.

Snarling, Black stomped away, and towards the cathedral like building atop the hill. Confused, as well as a little scared, Jaune stayed quiet and watched.

Sighing, Bildnis glanced at the simple dagger embedded in the stone next to her, walked past it and stood before Jaune, as the Bonfire once more returned to its normal, lazy flickering and coiled sword buried within it.

Jaune became even more curious, with more questions dying to be spoken, but Bildnis answered first.

"Jaune...the world you know, is nothing more than a child in the face of its true past. Ignorant, though not of their own volition, you know nothing of Lordran, its horrors, wonders and vast history. And for a long while, it seemed it would remain that way. No Undead, no Demons. Dark, yes, but nothing like it once was.

"But it seems that peace will no longer last." Jaune put a hand to the ring burnt into his arm, and he took an odd sense of comfort from its Hollow like feel. It...it just made him feel...like him, he supposed. That this was all real, and that he was who he was. It is hard to explain.

"Jaune, that knight, who bears armor burnt black, carries a burden he only desperately wished to be rid of. To pursue his dreams, hopes, and burden, he had to become what some would consider a hero, and others a cursed fool." Bildnis seemed genuinely sad at this, and Jaune felt something ache in his chest with those words.

"The Fire was everything of Lordran, it meant everything to the Lords, who had been rebirthed into Godhood by the Flame, and with their influence and power, it meant everything to the races of man. Yet, for no how magical, wondrous and life creating the Flame was, it was still fire. And all fire fades eventually, with nothing to burn.

"As you could guess, the Flame required no ordinary material to stay alight, and it took the Gods only short time to figure out what it could be." Bildnis almost imperceptibly looked down, gazing into Jaune's chest.

"Souls. The Flame required souls, powerful souls, to sustain it. Unwilling to part with their power, the Witch and her Daughters attempted to birth a new Flame, but ultimately failed, for one, not even Gods, can create that which creates Light, and with it, life.

"The Witch became engulfed in her failed magic, becoming the Mother of a new kind of life, a twisted, malformed life; Demons. The Chaos Flame. She became only one of many problems for those of the Light. Undead, formed from the Darkness within Man, became what they were as the Light began to fail, allowing Dark to slip into the lands and its denizens.

Undead were hunted, killed, and shamed, but in their unwanted immortality, the Living could not spare the effort to kill and kill and kill the same Undead over and over until the body simply gave up and remained unmoving, still living in a way, but incapable of moving. So, the Living built great prisons, to house the Undead to the end of days, which steadily came to be, as the Flame failed, and more and more found themselves branded by the sign of the Unliving. Realising the possibilities for the Undead, legends grew, rumors, gossip, tales and folktales, all came to the firelight as the great Lords realised that perhaps, maybe, the Undead could solve their problem. They can rip out souls, after all.

"And so the knight of burnt armor found himself on his path, in an effort to appease his Gods, and hopefully break the curse. He failed, even as the Flame remained lit through his efforts. Pleased, the Gods made him relive his path cycle after cycle, always _him_ rekindling the Flame, even when he was on the verge of breaking. But he persisted, and the Flame remained lit. And yet, one cannot force a man upon the same path of self torture indefinitely, and the knight simply quit, allowing the Flame to fade, and Dark to reign."

Jaune's eyes widened. The Great Shadow, one of the greatest mysteries of Remnant, one of the greatest questions; who were we before? Bildnis was right, no one on Remnant knew of life before the Great Shadow, no one knew who ruled, what happened, nothing. There were ruins, great ancient caverns and tombs and rotted villages, crumbled cathedrals and more, torturing Mankind with scratches and the barest hints of life before.

"An Age of Dark…" Bildnis nodded at his muttered words. It made a lot of sense. The past of Remnant was shrouded in shadow, yet the concept of Light and Dark existed, tales of Undead were still told, and apparently architecture was the same as much of the past. The Six Kingdoms and their mysterious past. Now that he thought of it...a knight of burnt armor…

"You mean him...what is his name?" Surely such a man had a title, if nothing else. Now that he thought on it, all that had been revealed so far, he felt something stir in his chest and mind. A form of understanding, acceptance, and agreement. He _knew_ these things to be true, and yet he only learned of them now.

He had to know, he _needed_ to know.

"His name is as lost to time as is the name of Lordran. To appease you, and hopefully him as well, one name he was known for...was Chosen." Bildnis shook her head. "I admit, I do not believe such a name would please him, for it was a title granted to the man for his burdened path."

Jaune took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his eyes meeting the covered eyes of Bildnis.

"Tell me, please...why me?"

"Because, dear Jaune, you and Chosen are one and the same." What? He, Jaune Miles Arc, was the same as Chosen? The mysterious, raspy, kind of terrifying man in black armor? Sensing his confusion, Bildnis spoke.

"I do not believe he would be so happy to hear me speak of his past so freely, so I will tell you what will help you understand, but the rest, the true details, I shall leave that for him to share of his own volition.

"Chosen failed, allowing the Dark to reign and the Flame to fade entirely. This did not please the Gods, and they showed no mercy for the man they willingly tortured to continue their selfish reign, and so, they punished him. He would forever remain Undead, and only reawaken upon a time he is needed. That time has come, and as such, led to your birth, for you to be the vessel for his soul, his new life." Bildnis took a step forward, getting rather close to Jaune, and he could've swore she smelled like strawberries. Odd.

"You, dear Jaune, _are_ Chosen, in and out, only with a secondary soul to run the body before his reawakening. I shall be honest, I am only able to grasp at the possibilities for why the Gods brought him-you, back at this moment, and no, it has nothing to do with the Great Flame itself. I shall answer more on the Great Flame at a later date, so please, no questions on it." Jaune shut his mouth.

"By allowing Dark to reign, the Undead were no more, the concept of Life and Death faded, time faded, realities shattered and became enshrouded in eternal darkness. Until now, in a world that reclaimed the Light, but without any need for the Flame, and as such, the New Light that was born does not birth the Undead curse into the Living. Except for you.

"As his punishment, the Gods sealed Chosen away, his soul still marred by the curse of Undeath, and has now been reawoken in you, to bear the curse and its suffering, and in an attempt to control you.

"But the Gods are silent, Darkness still rules, Grimm I believe you call them, and the Flame no longer exists to fight it. But. Just because there is no Flame, does not mean there is no Light." Bildnis placed a hand on his shoulder, 'staring' back into his eyes.

"That is all I can answer for now, and I apologize for it. You must reawaken and continue your journey amongst your own world, and do not worry. Chosen shall be with you every step of the way, bringing back who you once were, and protecting you. And I shall be here, so that when you wish, in a time of peace, you may come back to Firelink Shrine, and we may converse, train or _whatever_ you wish. Simply place your hand upon the hilt of the coiled sword, and wish upon the world you know, and you shall return. I do await your next _visit._ " That didn't make him blush, definitely didn't, although he did sigh in disappointment.

"I...I see. Thank you, Bildnis, but may I impose upon you, only one more question?" Bildnis nodded slowly, and he felt incredibly thankful for it.

"How...how did you do that? Push me into that prison, the orb, the _memories,_ all of that...how do you do it?" At this, Bildnis gave a beautiful smile, before it fell to a playful smirk and she poked his chest.

"Magic."

He couldn't help it. Even as his chest felt colder than before, even as he now realised it was harder to smile, and that the fiery emotions within him that once tried to argue against what he was facing were now silenced through his little 'journey', he laughed. Of course, he thought, why not magic as well?

As he walked towards the Bonfire, confidently lifting his hand before the hilt, something he noticed but had finally managed to push to the back of his mind, simply letting whatever happens happen, and focused on the last thing he saw -the forest from the sky- he warped away in a haze of golden and red flames, missing the gaze within Bildnis's covered face.

As another sound of the warp for Chosen to join Jaune sounded by the cathedral, she sat atop her boulder, alone, hands clasped in her bandage covered lap.

As the silent sounds of the world around her reigned, and the faint caws of the Crow sounded in the sky above, she simply stared at the Bonfire in longing.

"I hope to see you again soon...old friend."

* * *

It had been only a few minutes, but Jaune had made decent progress through the forest. He had awoken to a dull ache, most likely by whatever killed him, and the position of his body upon awakening, but it was nothing a minute or so of stretches couldn't fix.

He was pleasantly surprised to find the Estus flask in a pouch on his belt, and began to wonder at the possibilities of what he could bring with him after each visit to Bildnis.

 _ **Do not be so greedy, only pure magic items may be able to materialize within your plane of reality.**_

 _Wait, what? And why are you talking so clearly now?_ Jaune began to unconsciously fast-walk his way through the destroyed forest as Chosen's voice spoke within his head. Raspy, but without any pause, and much more formed.

 _ **I-your, urgh.**_ **Our** _ **past endeavours are linked in soul and body, even should**_ **You** _ **be of new body and different soul. We are one and the same, and the magics of**_ **My** _ **world, the past of this...Remnant, still resonates in our souls and blood. It seems through Lady Bildnis's magics that we now have our Estus flask back. As for my voice, it seems absorption of that Demon's soul has healed me of my impairment.**_

 _How do you know all this?_ This would undoubtedly be helpful, and the base concept was pretty simple, but it was incredibly confusing. An added bonus was that Chosen would no longer take forever to talk.

 _ **I have rather...intimate, knowledge about subjects of the soul and the magics that involve them.**_ He could hear Chosen release a shaky sigh, mixed with fury and tinges of sorrow. _**Those despicable disgraces for deific beings cursed me for mistake, and by locking away my soul into the very depths of their infernal Lock.**_

' _Mistake'? What did you do?_ There isn't much known on ancient deities but Chosen- _he,_ had to have done something to earn the ire of _Gods…_

 _ **I solved their problem, but in consequence, they would have lost their status.**_

 _Elaborate._ Crocea cleaved through a branch that got in his way, but he did not notice as it was an unconscious swing.

 _ **The Undead Curse, it is a Curse empowered by Darkness for as long as Flame still burns, and it was only after I had realized that I let the Flame burn out what had happened. But, in the one haven I managed to find acceptance in, it had kept my, our, Curse still branded on us, and as punishment, they sealed me away, in a Lock of their creation, that harbored Flame, so that our Curse still brands us even as others lost their Brand.**_

Now that is just wrong…

 _But, why would they do such a thing?_

 _ **Power. By losing the Flame, they lose their power, and by losing their power, they lose their Godhood.**_

Such cruelty for so called Gods...Jaune wasn't painting a very decent picture of these beings.

Jaune refocused as an ear splitting screech entered his ears, and his eyes widened as the Mother of all Scorpions entered his sight, his form still hidden by the ruined tree line, but his view of the clearing uninhibited.

Incredibly large, moss covered and very clearly furious, the large scorpion lashed out at several familiar faces, causing his grip on Crocea Mors to tighten enough to crack his knuckles. Pyrrha was sweating, her form dodging and attempting to find openings within the scorpion's carapace, but frequent stabs from the golden stinger and humongous claws kept her at bay.

All of those that he had met and made a form of friendship from his short stay within Beacon were there, and an ear splitting screech from above drew his eyes to even more familiar faces, mostly of Yang and Ruby as they, White and Black fought with an overgrown bird. Damn, he forgot their names. But they seemed to be capable of handling the bird.

Turning to the three in his front, fighting the large scorpion, he made his decision and tensed his legs.

The size and ferocity of it reminded him of the beast from the prison, and he felt something begin to simmer deep in his arms, but he ignored it, thinking it nothing more than tense muscles. No, no turning back now. This was no time to hide, but, he couldn't rush in without a plan.

This time, this time he will save his comrades.

 _ **Let us deal with this beast.**_

 _With pleasure._

* * *

 **And cut. This came out better than I thought, in all honesty.**

 **I am well aware that there are several canon facts I am not using correctly, such as Ozpin's remark on Jaune being eaten by Grimm. What makes Grimm terrifying is that they have no need for food, but instead only kill for the sake of killing, but I have something that may just make a Grimm's need to eat in this world make sense: Negativity.**

 **Grimm are fueled by the stuff, it's what gives them the reason to hunt and kill Man, but what if there were more ways they could get it? Such as, say,** _ **eating**_ **their target? Able to absorb the negativity straight from the person as long as they are eaten while alive, or freshly killed. They absorb it passively from people who are feeling negatively, but can get it directly by eating a person. Make sense? I hope so.**

 **This was pointed out by Axcel, a Guest reviewer. And these next ones are for him/her, as well as you lovely readers:**

 **The Gods and their "punishment". Simply put, in my eyes, I can't see Gods of the Dark Souls universe (all of them, because of the weird, multi-universe stuff present in lore) being decent beings at all when it comes to Undead, outside of manipulating the Undead for their own purposes. As beings who gained their power from the Flame, having to deal with humans that have succumbed to a curse of Darkness doesn't seem very ideal for the great and powerful beings, that and they just seem like the arrogant, power hungry type. That, and really? They mistreated, no doubt neglected, and imprisoned poor innocent Priscilla. That's a crime of the highest degree.**

 **But that is my view on them as my own person, and am attempting to put that view through the view of someone who has serious hate for the beings. Other than that, I am attempting to make the Gods as something more worthy of their Dark Souls existence.**

 **The view on Gods so far, as I've attempted to write clearly, and shall now make all capital letters, ARE ONLY VIEWED THIS WAY FROM HE WHO SUFFERS MOST FROM THEM. Chosen/Jaune definitely hasn't had the best experiences with the beings, steadfastly believing the Gods have forced him to rekindle the Flame simply so they can keep their positions of power, unaware that there were possibly** _ **hundreds**_ **of other candidates who could have taken the mantle of rekindling the Flame.**

 **He simply acted on it first, and took the burden, in a misguided sense of being forced, where instead of the** _ **Gods**_ **forcing him, he is instead forcing himself to undergo the trials to rekindle the Flame. He never gave anyone else the chance to do so. By doing so, the Gods did** _ **indeed**_ **make a mistake: they became dependent on Chosen. They never forced him to do so, but they just got so used to Chosen taking up the mantle that they would encourage him to continue so, simply because no one else ever got the chance to prove themselves. And in Chosen/Jaune's misguided view, he believed the Gods to be arrogant creatures that only wanted to torture him, and this leads to the punishment.**

 **Laziness, and a form of dependence upon one thing never leads to good endings, especially when that one thing is a mentally dispairing man who truly despises you but sees no other way but to continue forwards. When Chosen/Jaune inevitable failed, falling for the waifu Priscilla, the Gods felt their world crumble and fears be known because of Chosen, unaware that they became to reliant on one man to continue burning for a thousand years.**

 **In unjust anger, they punished Chosen/Jaune, tearing him from his love and forcing him to keep his Curse where others would lose theirs, and this dear readers, is where the Hate comes in.**

 **But how many years have passed since then? Hundreds? Thousands? Are the ancient Gods dead, in hiding, have they forgiven Chosen? Are they in self exile? Are they in fear of meeting Chosen again, their mortality closer than ever with no Flame to empower them, and despising themselves for their foolishness? Who knows.**

 **Another clarification: The lore of Dark Souls is always told through passed down stories, snippets of history that has changed through the years, and only known through the eyes of the person and their beliefs. The Heretic? Chosen and his hate? All of them believe what they believe as fact because of the way their beliefs and experiences work.**

 **Onto Priscilla. Let's be honest here, Dark Souls is a shitty world to live in, and being a half-dragon hybrid would oh most definitely not give you a good life. Prisoned in a lonely, cold** _ **painted**_ **world, Priscilla would probably (definitely) not have had much experience with true joy, as well as love, the same goes for Chosen. Two beings who have never truly known the beauty and sweetness of love who fall in love with each other? I can gurantee you there will be clinginess and yandere-ish moments. I** _ **highly**_ **doubt Priscilla would take the idea of someone, say Pyrrha, being in love with** _ **her**_ **Jaune well. That and she has a big scythe, can go invisible, and has a health sucking ability, so yeah. She'll be scary.**

 **As for the "memories", or actual Dark Souls moments, I do plan to end up making each in one chapter only, so I don't waste too many chapters in one location that will be forgotten in the next chapter or so. Now, if the location is big enough, or I have reason to make it over multiple chapters, then those reasons will be known, but for the most part, each future Dark Souls location segment will be in one chapter, this includes interactions with Bildnis, the woman I am shaping up to be a waifu.**

 **These are all that I think and have come to mind thanks to Axcel, thanks for asking buddy. Sorry if these are wacky or whatnot, but I responded to these as best I can and am happy to share them.**

 **Do expect a more emotionless Jaune in the future, Chosen and he are the same person, so personalities will begin to match soon enough.**

 **A big thanks to Yang Xiao Longer, awesome as always, and toodles my doodles.  
**


	9. Chapter 9: Sorceric Souls

**A/N: Hello everyone! It is Cherry here, bringing warm greetings to everyone that reads this note.**

 **Allow me to get to the point: I am in need of someone who is willing to aid in the writing and production of this story, much like my good partner, Yang Xiao Longer, does for me. I ask as Yang's help only extends so far, and there are plenty of places where we find ourselves in a rut, so the extra help would be appreciated. Yang is not being replaced, my dear friend** _ **will**_ **remain a part of the group, so do not expect to be given more attention than Yang, or that Yang will receive more attention than whoever joins.**

 **One of the problems that caused this asking of a new Beta being combat scenes. Does this note sound odd coming from me and in the beginning of a new, long awaited chapter by those who enjoy this story? More than likely. However, instead of powering through my inexperience in these types of scenes, and providing sloppy writing, I intend to provide the best of the best, so I am asking for the help of those who would be willing to provide it.**

 **With that said, please hide your cringe to the best you can and enjoy this chapter.**

 **Thank you all for reading this note and giving my story a chance, I wish you all a great day/night!**

* * *

Sat atop her mound of broken stone and moss covered temple, Bildnis gazed into the lazily crackling flame of the Bonfire, cloth covered eyes somehow seeing despite their materialistic blindness.

It was quiet, save the occasional squawks of the Shrine Crow. At least, it would seem so, to an outsider.

Naught but a gentle wind stirred the grass within the lazy atmosphere the broken Firelink created, an impossibly beautiful sky framed by cloud and distant mountains, visible to all yet unreachable.

It would be rather difficult to reach an expanse of land that no longer existed, would it not? Firelink was both a place of respite and a burdening milestone for all, living and reanimated. It shackled innocent maidens and whispered lies into the ears of hopeful warriors via illusion of comfort and sense of importance. It made the heart ache at the sight of such beauty, but much like a rose, it houses it's thorns.

Ironic, is it not? Such a place, meant for prayer, rest, and tales of a better 'morrow...a trap. A trap meant to damn the innocent and the weary onto a journey for a world that cared naught for them, never for them.

The people who could only hope for their days to continue, would rely, and continue to belittle, only those who could possibly answer their prayers.

Such fools, in their arrogance and avarice. Unable to accept truth and look past doctrine and drivel of the "higher beings", the gods. To so easily curse those that chose not their fate and yet...

She shook her head from her musings, a small smile that held not joy nor hate gracing her face, focusing away from such thoughts, one subject of many that had plagued her for _so long,_ just to return her sightless vision on upon her Bonfire.

Much like before, the heated, coiled sword of the fire was no longer visible, the fire itself warped and displaying images of a land she could never admire in the flesh. A beautiful forest, a wondrous sky, a wind that changed and leaves that fell, each season a dazzling array of colors.

Such a place not for her, such as her punishment.

At such a stray thought, her grin that was neither proud nor despairing fell, instead leaving nothing but a tired woman, her scantily clad form unable to be appreciated as a visible sense of exhaustion, ache and grief surrounded her.

Losing herself to despair, the Fire thought otherwise, and a warmth spread through her body, chilling her to the core and burning her in invisible shackles.

A gasp of delighted pleasure and twisted pain escaped her throat, her ever changing thoughts dashed away as her sight was once more drawn to the Warp, to observe the world she so wished to encounter, even if only once, to observe and aid the man who had come to call Firelink both a home and a prison in more love and venom than any could hope and dread to match.

A tingling formed in her chest, crackling like lazy ice yet roaring like emotional fire. Here, she could share the sentiment without her warden making Its presence known. It was worry, joy, envy, pride, and pity.

Jaune. Chosen. The split Present and Past of a man who had lost and fought for it all. She would not be that damnable serpent, the Seeker, information would come freely for he- _Its_ knight. She sighed. No, never hers...why would he be?

A twitch formed, her expression twisting between jealousy and, what she had once lost, hope. Hope that the man who had suffered for all, would be there for her. She could not deny it, that was all she wanted. Her one wish, her one demand. She was a prisoner. A failure. A demented. She was bound, to forever serve Firelink, and never leave its mystical borders.

As per all Firekeepers.

Jaune was hope and worry in one. The first memory was sudden, jarring, and should have been used with more caution. But no. Why would it, whenever _It_ demanded, she would give it. The first suffering of many. She shook her head. She needed to focus, no more scattered, despairing thoughts. Only plans, the future.

She gazed into the Warp, intent on employing her duty. Sadly, the heart was wont to betray the mind.

A hand rose to her breast, placing her palm gently over the ice cold burning within her. Should she have her way, she would have ripped it out.

"Do not worry...m- _your_ Champion shall be safe...he has fought many battles, what is one more before the tide of many to come? He will be fighting for _you,_ after all." She could not disguise her venom, a trade of hiding a slip of the tongue for the tone of her true feelings.

Not as if it would have mattered, It noticed, always. There were many names for It, but she called it by one. Warden.

For It acted like a true, careless captor- sadistic, childish, honest, and more.

Warden crackled in sadistic joy, almost reveling in the venomous tone of her words. It knew what It was doing to her, and It cared little for softening blows.

The Warp took her attention, ignoring the almost cackling of Warden, as Jaune dodged a rather clumsy strike from the...what had they called it? Bull-charger? No no, Bull _stalker,_ that's it.

It was massive, she noted, and while not the fastest moving creature around, the attacks it used were well placed, and without reckless abandon. The appearance of it had startled her quite a bit, having watched everything that had happened upon Jaune reawakening within the forest he had "died" in.

It was completely covered in ancient bone, moss and clumps of dirt- a scorpion, obviously, but of a more sophisticated design. Vibrant, and violent, lines of red trailed up and down the beast, the many plates and curling pieces of bone leaving little flesh open for attack, save the joints and key places along the base of the tail and upper body for ease of movement.

She was not much of a wielder in hammer, or most melee based weapons, but she knew blade would do little where blunt would be critical against such an armored foe. Unfortunately for Jaune and his comrades, it seemed the beast was well aware of its weakness, as the brunt of the attacks went for the pink colored hammer wielder, with quick, damaging stabs of claw and leg for the other five.

Yes, five.

It had been rather interesting to see the other two join in on the fight, both being girls with an interesting set fighting style and state of dress.

She wished not to judge upon others that did not deserve it, especially the wide variety of dress the children and adults she had seen adorned, seeing as, besides the curious trend of colorful dress, the two newcomers were being as helpful as they could. It was interesting to take in the sights of their rather simplistic, if intricate simplisticity. She cocked her head to the side in curiosity, and without hate at the sight of their themes- that being they were women of the cloth.

Well, the one with antlers, that is. She wasn't so sure on the armored one, but she was confident that she might be.

The one with antlers wore a gold trimmed, slightly dirtied robe of white, her hood parted into slits along the top so that it may allow her antlers room for the hood to sit atop her head. Covering her completely, Bildnis and the girl's company was only graced with a view of her face, which was rather slender and doll-ish, with wide, violet colored eyes that narrowed in concentration. Bildnis could not call the girl anything other than cute, though the word beautiful could have summed up her form -which was complemented by her robe- it could not begin to describe her _doe_ like features.

Why did the blond fist fighter just giggle?

In pale hands, she clutched a twisted piece of white oak, a rather beautiful, well cut, blue gem sat atop the end, held in place by a webbing of oak branch. Glowing dull gold, she muttered words none could hear, her allies glowing dull gold when they took a rather nasty hit, and, to Bildnis' surprise, a dull gold glyph of an open winged eagle, firing down a visible shockwave atop the scorpion beast.

Moving on, the second girl _was_ someone who could be summed up with _beautiful_. A heart shaped face, complimented by a slender build and form fitting, expertly crafted metal armor -or so her limited expertise in arms and armor told her. Her armor befitted a fencer such as herself, a dark green tailcoat beneath the armor that kept her snug while still flexible in her movements. Vibrant gold eyes were framed perfectly with her excited grin, her braided black hair whipping about, the golden band along the end shining in the sunlight. Held in her hands were duel, thin blades that were far tougher than their fragile looks beheld, if the fact they could bounce off the stone like bone armor of the Bullstalker without cracking meant anything.

The blades were rather simple, for the most part, silver with a standard cross guard, but it was the first halves of the blades that were interesting, seeing as they were twisted in a manner similar to the burning blades of the Bonfires. Fast, agile, excitable, it seemed the only real weakness to her was the lack of range and ability to pierce heavily armored foes.

Nevermind, her swords were on fire and she was now firing bolts of fire with each thrust and slash of her blades. There was still the problem of piercing, but the flames looked like a good distraction and method of dealing more damage to the few cuts added onto the beast.

Jaune and company seemed to be doing well, all things considered. It was still a tough beast, and the armor it wore was still holding strong...that and it was an organic based armor, seeing as it grew on the beast itself, so it was rather doubtful it was just crack and fall off like the metal of a knight's platemail over leather after receiving too much abuse.

With the combined efforts of the group, they were capable of keeping the beast at bay, but seeing as it was still an obstacle in their way, it was obvious it would need to be dealt with. A frown made its way onto her pale face, the cloth covering her face scrunching up, her eyes almost teasingly just peeking out, a vibrant glow just glimpsing over the cloth.

A twinge of hot worry spiked in her chest, and she cared not to acknowledge it as much as she could. No point in acknowledging what she already felt herself, especially not when it involved the Warden.

Jaune was running in circles, barking off orders in a very cold, marshal tone, his sword glinting in the sunlight as he struck where he could, backing up his companions by blocking strikes they could not defend themselves. It was an impressive display of leadership, and the tone he held was very attention catching...sadly, it seems old habits and new bodies don't blend very well.

She knew about Chosen's rather...dark...past, more than most could say, but only to a certain degree. With what she knew, though, she knew that he was a very lone fighter. A loner tendency, born of failure, fear, loss and years of combat. It was simply easier to bear the burden, when one fought alone...or so he thought. She sighed. It wasn't healthy, bottling up such emotions, letting failure and fear dictate how one led their lives.

No, now was not the time for worrying on his mental health born of the past. Now was the time for worrying about his mental and _physical_ health concerning this fight.

In his old body, she had no doubts Jaune could deal with the Bullstalker all by himself and with his mere clawed gauntlet covered hands. Now? Jaune was reborn, into a body of a young man who had only existed seventeen years, a measly percentage of the number he had lived originally. The experience and bodily difference showed in how Jaune was already panting, and whether it be adrenaline or stubbornness -she wouldn't cast that option aside- she could see him grimacing in pain. It was the social aspect that also worried her.

Several times now, he had been bumped into or nearly been impaled. All because, despite the orders he barked out, cooperation and communication didn't seem to take hold on his part. Bumping into Lady Nikos in an effort to rush in, thus ruining her aim with her...rifle(?), or being forcibly pulled back by Sir Ren when almost becoming disemboweled by a stray leg? Winning would be difficult.

Odd, why was he not drinking from his Flask? At that thought, she shook her head. Obviously, Chosen was the cause of this, no doubt telling him not to use it, and not without reason. As far as Bildnis had noticed, the world of Remnant was kept in the dark about magic, seeing as Lady Nikos reacted to Jaune's undeath was in a way that wasn't hostility but sheer confusion. To drink from the mystical Flask would no doubt turn heads...but she truly wished he would drink from it.

Whether it be selfishness or worry to ignore the threats of Jaune's Undead status being found out, she would say it was both.

A shriek from the Warp drew her attention back. Lady Nora had taken a blow Jaune had failed to defend, both of them being sent flying back, and the poor girl curling up in pain, her hands on her stomach. Jaune had gotten up quickly, if shakily, running to the girl from the short distance he was blasted away with a fierce look of defiant protectiveness, using his sword as a crutch as he managed to lift his shield, legs shaking horribly as a horrendous clang sounded about the cliffside, Jaune having just managed to defend a tail strike.

The beast had managed to escape the glyph that forced it in one place, leaving deep gauges in the ground as it forcefully crawled to the down girl, a vain attempt to deal with the biggest threat, her hammer, as well as the knight who constantly raised his shield in defence against it.

She would admit to herself that the sight of the newly Undead standing so defiant in front of a beast that so blatantly outclassed himself, it was a sight to see, and not a bad one. A small smile graced her lips as the others let out their own roars of defiance, attacking the beast with gusto, the pink striped young man seeming incredibly furious in his offense for his Lady's honor. As a true knight, if quieter and more anti-social.

The priestess had seized usage of her glyph, rushing to Jaune's side to raise a glowing palm over the wounded Nora, said girl groaning in pain. Bildnis grimaced in pity. The girl was strong, undoubtedly so, and to see her crumpled in such a state was nothing less but horrendously disheartening.

The Warp only granted so much sight, and she had to bite back an angered sigh as it attempted to focus on the battle itself, the curiosity of her Warden attempting to overtake her control over the mirage like window. She needed to see how Jaune was fairing, damn it, it was the only way to properly monitor the boy's growth once more!

"I know you are but a simple, dimwitted child given power, but would it damn you so much to let me do my duty!?" It was a mutter, a curse, but from the spike of agonizing pain shooting up her spine, the Warden had heard it, and it was not pleased.

Collapsing to her knees, regret and angered pride shown on her face, pain wracking her system and pride that she had dealt a blow to the Warden's ego. Let what happens come, her duty would not change, and she would embrace small victories.

* * *

Shakily standing, Jaune had never felt so alive since his heart had stopped beating. It was like a drum, as blood roared in his ears and a growl so primal and furious it made the poor Faunus priestess cringe in fear, that he felt far more vengeful than ever.

He knew little about Nora Valkyrie. He didn't know her home village or kingdom, he didn't know what she liked outside of what was so blatantly obvious, he didn't know a thing about her outside of what he had seen only the morning prior!

Yet it was with a clenching of his fist, torn muscles within his shield arm flaring up in agonizing, but quickly dulling, pain that he vowed to tear apart the beast in front of him. Like he would act around his sisters when a bully or lecherous teen boy would dare to touch them, he felt a pulsing surge of protectiveness fill his core, and he felt a form of glee in his system as Chosen felt the same.

Sadly, his rage would need to be channeled elsewhere, as his new friends were forcing the Grimm back, and he fell to his wobbly knees as he attempted to walk towards the fray, now shield and sword acting as his crutches.

It felt wrong, it felt... _weak._

And he had never felt so damn angry in his life.

 _ **Jaune…my brother…**_ Chosen's tone was calm, but layered with fury, controlled, and unlike the ever eating fire Jaune felt stirring under his skin, Chosen's voice was the equivalent of a creeping cold that slowly devoured one in a casing of ice.

Stumbling to his feet, Jaune glared at the Bullstalker, falling once more onto one knee, his loyal blade bearing his weight as his shield dropped and the hand rose to clutch his chest in pain. The priestess was doing what she could, but Nora had taken the brunt of the damage, the glow of what Jaune assumed was her Aura crackling and shattering as she collided with the tree.

 _What?_ If there was anything he needed right now, it was confirmation that they could win, a strategy, a reassurance, in any way, shape or form.

 _ **The Flask. Drink. We are of no use injured as so, cautions be damned, and this beast...I recognize those markings.**_

 _Markings?_

 _ **The plate above the eyes -swirls of red encompassed by jagged, crimson squares. Those are sorcery glyphs. Old, and crude, but there.**_

 _Glyphs…?_ Even stumbling, Jaune easily took out the ivory flask filled with liquid fire as if it was second nature, his concentration upon the beast being besieged by his companions taking control over the lazy comfort he felt from the liquid known as Estus. Warming fire flowed through his body, the pain gone and his breathing even, the swig he took of the golden liquid easing his angered mind in the same way one's tense muscles would relax from the fingers of a professional masseuse.

It took a few moments, and the constantly in movement fight did little to aid him, but Jaune was able to glimpse the symbols Chosen had brought up. Even from the impressive distance that separated him from the Bullstalker, only a few glimpses were able to give a crystal clear view, but he could see quite clearly. It would seem his heritage manifested the incredible eyesight that was known amongst his people was brought forth by being Undead? His eyesight was never _that_ good. Either way, he wouldn't complain.

Making a mental image of the glyphs, Jaune gripped his head in mild pain as it throbbed, unnoticing of Chosen placing a clawed hand over his unbeating heart, his form clear within Jaune's mind yet not entirely visible to him.

 _Sorcery?...like, magic?_ The idea wasn't so ludicrous as it may have once seemed, seeing as he was apparently the reincarnation of a long ancient Undead, who also resided within him, fought a giant Demon with an oversized hammer, oh and he's an Undead.

Did he forget to mention he was an Undead? 'Cause he is.

 _ **Yes, magic. Focus, embrace the pain. I feel it as well. We are one and the same, remember not? Two halves of a whole, for the same soul cannot have a direct mimic. What you are feeling are memories,**_ **our** _ **memories, coming back to you. You host this new body of ours, and I apologize here that this pain will be a regular occurrence, and, dare I say, become far more painful.**_

 _I see...thank you for the worry, but for now, we need to deal with this thing. I have questions, lord do I have many, but defeating the Grimm and ensuring the safety of our comrades come first._

None could say he was an irrational person, nor an idiot, not when it mattered.

Flexing his grip along Crocea's leather wrapped handle, Jaune eyed their foe warily. His allies were, all things considered, making rather good progress in the fight, the Bullstalker being forced back quite a ways away from him, Priestess and Nora. It also sounded like instead of annoyed cries of anger coming from the Grimm, it was more along the lines of pained cries of anger.

It seems anger has a way to empower just about anyone. But, as always, good things do not last forever, and the Bullstalker was a stubborn mule.

Broken bone plating, popped eyes, being forced back, it mattered not as the Grimm showed the mindless, wild traits all Grimm were known for, ignoring the chance it could have taken to flee, to realize the Hunters-in-training were not easy prey, and that it would most likely be weakened significantly, if not killed.

Age to a Grimm meant strength and intelligence, everyone knew that, but a Grimm was a Grimm, no matter the age. No degree of intelligence could hold back it's true nature for long, and seeing as it began to attack without concern for the damage it sustained, the Bullstalker had fallen to its natural rage.

He needed to get out there.

 _ **Jaune, listen.**_ He did. _**We were wielders of sorcery, once. We eased and molded our soul's power into a weapon and shield, discovered and refined spells crafted by old, young, seasoned, inexperienced and curious mages. The soul was ours to wield, and it shall be, once more.**_

 _How do I wield such a thing? Doesn't our Aura do most of that already?_

 _ **The answer is, rather, short, both yes and no. Aura is the outermost layer of the soul, simply granting the wielder the first layer as a shell of protection, minor healing and a boost to natural abilities. It is not**_ **true** _ **sorcery, for Aura is a singular layer meant for direct defense, with very limited ways to mold it.**_

 _ **Aura has been around even in our time of Lordran, but the idea of trading the mysteries of sorcery for the limited benefit of Aura was rather unappealing to the magic studying masses, so it was never explored with much fervor. Warriors, on the other hand, seeked it with fervor, but with very few mages that truly sought it out, and how few warriors that could forcibly unlock it, Aura was never a major part of our lifetime.**_

 _I see. How will this help us?_

 _ **I am getting there, brother. The ability to wield the soul was a major part of our way of fighting, something that cannot be forgotten, even in our case of being splits of a single soul. It will take practice, time and patience to truly reach what we could do, but I am confident that we can call upon some sorceries.**_

 _ **This creature bears marks of sorcery to keep it functioning, 'tis why the glyphs lie upon its mask. Physical weaponry could defeat it, but it would be a slow, arduous, and as seen, not very viable, especially at this stage of its lifetime. Sorcery is the strongest weapon in our arsenal that could defeat it, since sorcery is quite capable of overcoming sorcery, in great, powerful waves.**_

 _ **Listen to my voice, breathe in, slow, steady…**_ He did just that, spending precious moments taking in deep breaths, feeling his tense muscles that Estus could not keep calm begin to soften and relax, yet his grip upon his blade never failing.

 _Alright, alright...in...out...I can do this...in...out…_ Chosen seemed pleased, if the gravelly hum he released meant anything.

 _ **Now, call upon your hate.**_

What?/ _What?_

 _ **Your hate. Your rage.**_ **Our** _ **hate.**_ **Our** _ **rage. Let it flow within, to stoke our soul. Worry not, I will be here, no matter what happens, I will be here to aid you.**_

That was...reassuring, he supposed.

 _How?_ Chosen did not answer, not like the answer would have been immediate, nor easy, Jaune would think. Taking glances between Priestess, Nora and the fight with the Bullstalker ahead of them, Jaune was beginning to shift his weight from side to side in minor impatience.

It was with a heavy sigh, that Chosen answered.

 _ **...I wish we had more time.**_

 _Wha-_ "G **A** H **!**!"

All at once, it began to feel as if his head would explode. Images flooded his mind, and he collapsed to his knees, shaking near violently as his blade fell from his grasp, thudding against the grass and drawing the worried attention of Priestess, who had done all she could to help the Valkyrie -propping her up against a tree, her hammer resting on her lap.

Rushing over, she tried calling out to Jaune, placing her hands gently on the boy's shoulders in an attempt to ease the boy, her dull gold Aura flaring as she muttered out a quiet passage, a warmth flowing from her pale hands into the body of the young man in front of her, a technique she had learned early on in her training, Soothing Touch.

It worked, or so she believed, as the boy had stopped shaking, but she couldn't hide the flinch she had as her violet eyes met dull, fire tinged cobalt, said cobalt eyes widening slowly upon sight of her.

His lips moved quietly, and had she been Human and not Faunus, she would have missed what he muttered.

Before she could even pose a question in her mind, instead about to bring out words of comfort to aid alongside her Soothing Touch, she was forced to withdraw her hands as the boy in front of her _caught on fire!_

The obviousness that it was Aura shouldn't have deterred the Priestess, who was taught how to heal others even when their Aura' worked in defense of the body, and would reject outside forces, even if said forces were trying to heal them.

It was more along the lines that it felt as if she was being _drained_ of her Aura, and left with a feeling similar to when she scalded her hands as a child, hissing quietly in pain.

She was brought out of her sudden pain when the most _terrifying_ growl she had ever heard in her life -and she had heard the growls of Grimm and a pissed off Head Priest- almost made her want to flee into the forest, just to get away from it.

She _would_ have fled into the forest were she not frozen in place, primal fear freezing her muscles by tightening them almost painfully, a cold sweat breaking out on her brow as she quivered in fear, the source of the almost _demonic_ growl coming from the boy who was now glowing a rich, dark crimson that burned like fire.

Standing up slowly -she would later be surprised that the ground did not crack under the sheer pressure that began beating down on her- she could only watch as the boy walked forward a few paces, his sword having been lifted once more into his grip.

The pressure was immense, and it was getting difficult to breathe, so much so that she began clawing at her throat, dripping sweat and radiating fear, looking every bit the prey animal that her Faunus heritage was based off of, that being the deer.

Fear, pressure and a steady lack of oxygen slowly choking her out was indeed a problem, and seeing as her instincts were screaming at her to _run and not look back,_ her Aura was torn between strengthening the muscles in her legs to flee or force her lungs, throat and heart to start functioning normally. She was certain she would faint, her wide, fearful, violet eyes tracking every tightening of the boy's muscles she could see, how the crimson Aura he had seemed to flicker like fire and singe the grass he stood upon, and indeed, soon enough, she did faint.

But it was not the fear born from the sight of the crimson colored boy, nor was it the pressure, nor the lack of oxygen, even though they played factors into her fainting. No. It would be the near stopping of her heart as her instincts were practically _shrieking_ and _begging_ her to stand and flee, her eyes widening as far as they could. Upon gazing into the shadow of the boy in front of her, did she see the wispy, ink black, flickering silhouette of a figure in armor, glowing, baleful eyes leaking a miasma of blood red that only seemed to strike the final nail into her metaphorical coffin.

Vision fading into black, Epifania della Divinità just barely picked up the most inhuman roar to exist, alongside a blinding, crimson light that could not be understood by one such as her.

As her head collided with the soft, unforgiving grass, a singular question rose to the forethought of her mind, overpowering her instincts and oxygen deprived body.

 _Who's Rhea…?_

* * *

Ozpin felt his eyes narrow as he regarded what was once the grounds held for Beacon's Initiation, a place of beauty and serenity despite the dangers that lurked within, that now held a jagged, mangled scar along its end, towards the furthest cliff, where one of the many spots where the Relics of each new year would be placed.

Even had Ozpin not been paying attention to the Undead that was the Arc boy, the sheer magical energy that spiked in the air would have sent him running to investigate, especially when it was so close by.

One of the many cameras he had planted within the trees of the forest manage to capture the image of Jaune Arc, the boy with forged transcripts and a hidden identity as an Undead -something that should _**not**_ be affecting civilians whatsoever- become engulfed in the biggest concentration of pure magical energy the old Headmaster had ever seen be wielded by a single person.

That fact alone should have been terrifying enough, it was only made more so by the fact the _very_ young _Arc_ _teenager_ was the one to wield it.

Watching as the Hunter hopefuls who fought the Bullstalker collapse to their knees as the pressure bore down on their souls -Ozpin's own twitching lightly in a form of fear he had experienced only years before- the form of one Jaune Arc began to change within the raging inferno that was his crimson, Auric energy. "This is rather curious, indeed…" Muttering his words in thought, Ozpin concluded that this boy could _not_ be a pawn of Salem.

For one, he remembered rather fondly meeting the Arc patriarch and matriarch, alongside several of their brood, and that was when little Jaune had still been a baby within the womb, all those years ago, and the magical energy within that family home could not reach anywhere near this level. Secondly, this _type_ of magical energy, this violent, destructive and oh so limitless well of power, should have been lost hundreds, maybe thousand of years ago. The fact that this boy possessed such a potent well of it, and that he was here in Beacon's Initiation, meant that Salem had not sent him.

She was a crafty, patient being, who did not employ here most valued assets willy nilly, and to send a boy like this here, even to some method of attack, would be more detrimental than benefit on her part.

No, this was new, and he doubted Alexan and Vivianne would hide such a thing and still willingly send the boy to his academy.

Then again, Jaune's transcripts were faked, and Ozpin nor his staff had yet received any messages from the family quite yet, so perhaps the boy had ran away? Those two were always over protective of their litter, it would make sense their heir would feel pressured into something as big as becoming a runaway.

A quick check to his personal scroll confirmed that nothing had been sent his way via the Arc couple, nor their allies.

The Arcs were rather close friends, and Ozpin kept tabs on those who were aware of the War, so knowing they were fine and that nothing had transpired to bring up any new...changes...to their son, was rather worrying as it was interesting.

"A silver eyes, a candidate, two magic sensitive teenagers and a powerful, factionless Undead boy...Glynda." Broken from her shocked reverie, her eyes having been glued to the power and agonized crimes the young Arc had released.

Not waiting for an answer, Ozpin continued.

"See to it that previous team formations change...hm. Plan B, plan Hope…? This will be quite the... _interesting_ four years, if I do say so." Keeping calm on the outside, the man's inner thoughts were betrayed by his distracted tone, one hand rising to idly rub a crescent crested medallion with his thumb and forefinger. He needed to get this boy on his side, and as far from Jimmy's sight as possible until the Tinman could not get his fingers anywhere near the Undead.

Nodding, her expression serious -years of experience in the war in the shadows against Salem and being a Huntress in general giving her the ability to recover easily- she raised her oversized work Scroll.

With a few taps and only a half seconds hesitation, team JNPR was deleted from the list, a new name taking its place.

Glynda let out a sigh. "Damn this all...but if this is truly what is required...then please, grant us Hope."

Back in the forest, one Yang Xiao Long let out a snicker, thoroughly destroying the atmosphere for the group as they struggled to stand, and stay conscious.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: The King Piece

" _..."_ Jaune internal speech

" **..."** Chosen internal speech

 **If all of you lovely readers would stay for the Author's note at the end, then I would be very thankful. Especially if you've managed to put up with this story for this long.**

* * *

"...and with roar of fierce determination and iron will, the great champion, Powerful as a viper, Unstoppable as a bull, struck like a _Force_ of nature, and ferocity, decimating all His opponents who dared scathe his Lord's walls…"

The Chosen Undead listened quietly, peacefully. There were few precious moments in life within Lordran, especially that of an Undead's "life". Sometimes...sometimes one must let go of old vices to bear witness to the beauty and serenity that lied before them.

Like a flower, she bloomed white and gold, pale flesh smooth and almost doll like, beautiful and pure. Hair a warm golden brown, held in a tight, well maintained bun, complementing bright sapphires of blue tinged with the green of emeralds.

"You know, I'm beginning to see why you hang 'round them bleeding clerics. Heh, quite the looker, the little greenhorn." And there went the peace.

"You seem to never fail in breaking the few times of solace that present themselves, Patches." Sly grin, twinkling eyes and ever shining baldness, the thief tipped a non-existent cap towards the Chosen Undead.

"Well, 'tis what where my specialties lie, old friend. Right there with fair prices favoring fair items, eh?" Sometimes he wondered why he ever spared the cheapskate...then again, there were indeed _some_ good items for sale, one of which being the thief's services.

Patches did seem to have the knack for finding shiny coins and useless pieces of jewelry, and those were fun to blast out of the air with a good sorcery.

"Still though, I can see just why you like the little love. Big ole knight and the fair blushing maiden, hehe, quite the tale, quite the tale."

Sigh…"I'd say find a love life of your own so you could stop pestering mine, but that would be an impossible prospect for even a thief such as you." Patches simply barked a laugh. Chosen shook his head, crimson eyes hidden under a blackened, wolf-knight helm, sighing as realization hit him. It was time, wasn't it? The audible prayers always signalled one thing.

Another sigh, now a mutter. "Better head down to the catacombs, Rhea will be embarking soon enough…" Standing up, he was about to walk away from the lying thief and clear the path for Rhea and her entourage, when Patches chuckled from behind.

"This is why I like you, ole chum. Ya always looking forward, sword pointed like a shield, never stopping, never looking back...always looking out for another. Hehe. Must be some odd bastard to make you forgive a little thief like me, and one of those lying clerics." Yes, maybe. Running into Patches each cycle was quite odd, and quite a pain, but the man's insatiable laugh and insulting humor was refreshing, and a constant odd comfort to the weary warrior.

Admittedly, it felt weird, running into the thief skulking about in the Parish rather than the catacombs below, but a thankful one. Had he not his lonely heart, he may had killed the man before any harm could befall the clerics. But, as mentioned, Patches had his uses.

Such as killing a certain fat, mace wielding priest, which in turn saved Chosen face should Rhea question the man's whereabouts.

A shake of the head and an adjustment of a helm later, and Chosen walked out of the corner of the ruined shrine that the ever squatting thief called home.

Never looking back...indeed, he was always marching forward. For his friends, for their lives, never his own. Their desires were his to safeguard and nurture...at least, that is what he aimed to do. Each rekindling lasted oh so long, and there _were_ the odd times something outside of his control did not happen, and he was confident one to a few of his friends did not die and Hollow, meaning that, even sometimes, he had been partially successful...

"One more thing…" Oh what now. "There's a mighty fine stash of treasure I left down in those there catacombs, and like the true friend that I am, why not take it for yourself, hm?" Chosen chuckled.

Ah yes, the treasure...even if Patches never remembered it each cycle, Chosen found the kick down as a means of a game. Each time, he tried something different. Sometimes he tried his hand at climbing out once saving Rhea, or relaxing against the cool, earth walls. Sometimes he went barehanded when fighting the skeleton towers, sometimes not.

"Alright, thief-sorry. _Friend._ I'll bite."

"Hehehehe! Good! Good! Now, it's a little ways in, and like a true thie-er, _compeer,_ I left some prism stones to guide your way, can't miss it. Alls you gotta do...is wake up."

What?

"Wake up, Mr. Arc. No laziness this early in."

"Mmm, what are you on about, Patches…?" Couldn't he see he was comfy? Bloody thief.

"My name is Doctor Ziegler, Mr. Arc, it is nice to meet you. Now up and at it, you are all patched up, and have a big day ahead of you." It was with that response that Jaune finally opened his eyes, revealing not a ruined shrine but instead the cream white of a ceiling, and the most angelic woman sans his mother that he had ever seen. Who also pronounced "have" as "haw"

Platinum blonde hair held up in a high ponytail, warm blue eyes and a kind smile all donned in a white nurses coat met Jaune's somewhat sleep dull, fire tinged blue. Sitting up, he found that he was sitting in a bed, fluffy and extremely comfortable, and upon spotting several more, some with possible students asleep or reading or texting on them, and he realized he was in the medical wing of Beacon.

It was rather large, and a glance out the window showed that he was atop the second or third story.

"-is waiting for you, Mr. Arc." Oh, he was zoning out...she also seemed to pronounce her "w"'s as "v"s. " **Cute as it may be to hear, it is not a smart thing to doze off, Jaune. Admire the minor things later."** And mister dark and brooding had to have a snarky tone, now didn't he? Was it a sign of poor mental health to be comfortable with the voice in his head?

"I-I'm sorry, ma'am, could you repeat that?" Another smile, patient and kind, although, it seemed a little strained?

"I said that Deputy Goodwitch is waiting for you, Mr. Arc. You have been asleep for the past day- nothing bad, I assure you! Simply Auric and muscle strain, nothing lethal." Thankful for the reassurance, Jaune poked around his shirt clothed chest. Wait, did they wash his clothes for him? That's...kinda mortifying to think he was stripped and dressed in his sleep.

"She will be arriving shortly to give you a basic rundown of what you missed, as well as lead you to your assigned team. Apologies, but the Headmaster was unable to withhold the entrance ceremony for you and the few other injured initiates." While kinda sad he wouldn't get the official thing, at least this was confirmation that he passed. Better than failing.

" **Hmm, teams? This could be...disconcerting, especially now that the she is aware of our curse."** Wait, her?

" _You mean Pyrrha?"_ A grunt of acknowledgement. " **Lady Bildnis seemed fit to inform me of the happenings to what awakened you to the Darksign and I, and that girl was the cause of it."**

" _Oh yeah...I remember that. Well, nothing we can do about that. At least she isn't reacting poorly to this, right?"_ Another grunt of acknowledgement. As he is now, there was no doubt in Jaune's mind that Pyrrha was the stronger fighter, even if Jaune had received several years of training or not, and considering that she tearfully apologized and was keen to help, he had little reason to distrust her, or be wary of her attacking him. Perhaps his weakness for crying girls is making him forgiving, who knows.

Jaune looked up and met Miss Ziegler's eyes, finding her blinking slowly, inquisitively, looking at him, again, oddly.

"Are...are you okay, Mr Arc? You do not, feel odd at all? No pain?" It was the hesitance in her voice that made her accent, which was already present, even more pronounced.

"No, I-I feel fine. A little sore, but other than that, I don't feel anything wrong." He received a slow nod, his head cocking to the side with a spaced out hum as he thought over what had happened to him.

"May I ask, um, _vhy_ you ask, Miss Ziegler?" Oh great, now he was speaking with "v" for "w"... Hmm, nothing felt wrong, some soreness, but that was normal, wasn't it? The comics always said the guy who wakes up in the hospital is sore…Chosen was oddly silent.

"Mr. Arc, do you know what Auric Modification is?" He shook his head in the negative, getting a sigh and a finger nibble from the angelic nurse as she thought. "Do you know the basics of Aura?" A nod.

"Yeah, like a shield with healing powers, right?" She waved her hand in a gesture that proved he was somewhat right. "In simplistic terms, you are correct... _Vell_ , allow me to explain. Aura is a shield, born from our souls, in essence, the very structure of ourselves. As such, it contains every drop of information that is us, our personality down to the shade of our skin. Aura, like us all, can change depending on our environment, strong emotions and strong interactions, known as Forced Ewo-ewo- _Evolution,_ or Auric Modification, to those in the science society." Turning around and grabbing a handheld mirror, she handed it to the silent teen, who accepted it curiously. Looking into it, he was about to question just what she meant by her little rundown of Aura and it's ability to change when he spotted it.

Ever since he had been reborn -for lack of a better term, at the moment- as an Undead, he had felt cold, and, well, hollow. He could feel emotion, but it broiled under his skin in sudden flashes, sometimes greatly so, such as the panic with the Asylum Demon, and both events of blind fury he felt, both to kill the Demon and during Initiation when Chosen muttered... _that_ name. In Firelink, he had noticed his changes when gazing into the reflection of his sword, but now, it would seem he was more changed than ever.

Where his right eye was a dull blue with fiery orange around the pupil, his left eye was now a rich violet color, with a luminescent green around his now slitted pupil. In fact, _both_ his pupils were now slitted. A minute or so must have passed, as Miss Ziegler had coughed into her fist, in tune with Chosen's own nudge. That being one of a growl.

"O-oh uh, sorry miss Ziegler, I just...dazed off for a second." Probably not the best answer after saying he was fine, but no going back now. "Am I ready to leave, ma'am? Or is there anything else I should know?" One hand was raised to his face, where he slowly rubbed around his now purple and green eye. Nothing felt wrong, or numb, but was this truly his Aura's doing?

The angelic woman hummed, placing a hand to her chin. "Other than to take it easy and to report to medical or nearest staff immediately upon any pain or major discomfort, I do not believe there is. You will be given a day off before the school year officially starts, and while all training facilities and wings meant for students are now open for you, I recommend waiting until your Aura calms down. Some rest and meditative practices should help." His Aura needs to calm down? Must be something that he would've learned would he had entered a proprietary school, or perhaps something to do with his Auric Modification, better not question it. "Your belongings have been sent to your room, so no need to worry about trips back and forth to the lockers, Mr. Arc." That was considerate of them. " **Very. Although we should tour about our new home once we can. Not knowing anything rubs me the wrong way."** That was a good idea, getting the lay of the land, and so on.

He was about to respond when a new voice entered, one with more authority than the doctor spoke with.

"Thank you, miss Ziegler, but I believe Mr. Arc is needed elsewhere for the time being. His bill of health says he is no longer impeded to leave." One arm clasped around what was by far the biggest Scroll he had ever seen in his life, a woman who fit Discipline to the letter walked in with a clacking of heels. The nurse frowned but didn't seem too upset, although raised a brow when, oddly enough, the Headmaster, clad in green with mug and cane in hand, followed behind the Discipline embodied woman, spectacled eyes peering into the boy's dull blue and purple.

"Hello miss Goodwitch, just in time-" A groan from a bed further down caught their attention, prompting doctor Ziegler to pardon herself politely as she calmly, but briskly, walked to the teenager who was clasping their stomach.

"Ahem, well, if you would be so kind as to follow me, Mr. Arc, we will get you situated with your team." He was about to ask why the Headmaster was there, but said man in question made no comment or effort to explain himself, nor why he was staring at the young Arc so blatantly. Seriously, the man made no effort to hide it.

"Mr. Arc-" now he speaks, "I must commend you on taking action and taking control of the fight in the defense of your friends, although I must question the odd manner in which you dealt with the Grimm." Odd?

"What, do you mean by that, sir?" Chosen stayed silent, but it wasn't hard to tell that he was as confused as Jaune, and just as worried. "I mean that by pulling on that crimson Aura of yours, it also caused your friends to faint from the pressure of it." What!?

Jaune sat silent, his already unbeating chest colder than ice. "They...what?" Headmaster Ozpin merely shook his head, but he couldn't figure out if the gesture was meant to be cruel or supportive, because if it was supportive, it wasn't helping.

"Do not worry, Mr. Arc, they are all well and fine, nothing rest and some time to relax couldn't fix." Jaune looked at the man, his dull eyes glowing like multi-colored embers.

"B-but, you said…" "I said that they passed out, not that they are in any major harm, Mr. Arc." Jaune just looked down, his chest in some pain. Getting off of the comfy bed, he quietly turned to the Deputy of Beacon.

"S-should we get going, Miss Goodwitch?" The platinum haired woman nodded quietly, her face set in stone, but her eyes were soft and she didn't comment. "Yes, if you would just wait outside a moment?" Soft, questioning, not a demand. A nod and a click of a closing door later, and the Witch of Beacon turned to Ozpin with arms crossed and a frown marring her face.

"Might I question, _Headmaster,_ why you told the boy those things? He's obviously distressed about this, and you aren't helping in the slightest!" While not overly loud, Headmaster Ozpin did raise a brow at the rare raise in tone.

"Would you have rathered I did not tell him?" She shook her head, fighting the urge to swat the man with her riding crop. "I'd _rather_ you were more gentle about this. Mr. Arc is already experiencing new...circumstances, you had no reason to be so painfully brusque about it!"

"Glynda, you know I would never intentionally harm a student, especially a child in this new situation, but this? I needed to test him. See if he genuinely cared about the others he was with. While a lack of care for those he doesn't know much about isn't uncommon, I know the Arcs, and I know how caring they can be to anyone. I had to see if any new changes to his psyche were made, if he became completely uncaring." She scoffed, crossing her arms.

"And playing on his emotions was the best course?" Ozpin sipped his coffee, but didn't respond. Glynda Goodwitch just sighed. "If you will excuse me, Headmaster, but Mr. Arc needs to be shown to his team. Team RWBY has joined the other freshman in the mess hall for lunch."

"Thank you, Glynda." She didn't answer as she left, and he sighed into his mug. Perhaps he was a bit uncaring for the boy's possibly damaged psyche about his new status as Undead, but nothing changes the past, and he got the answer he was hoping for.

The Arcs cared greatly about their friends, and while the boy's new personality, more specifically the blankness of it, worried him, the knowledge that he cared for his allies, who are still mostly strangers, enough to be distraught this much, and so truthfully at that, pleased him. It was there, he frowned into his mug.

Jaune was, by Remnant's standards, a crossbreed. Born of a human father and a faunus mother, so him having characteristics of his half-faunus heritage shouldn't have been a shock. It was more of a shock that it sprouted with Auric Modification, an incredibly rare event, of which the good nurse failed to mention. "Vivianne is a tiger faunus, isn't she?" He shouldn't have been surprised the bow had gained slitted eyes, but it was perplexing that it seemed only those traits passed on, but then again, the boy's new magic was something powerful, as it must've messed with the genes he inherited from his mother. Almost unheard of magic, to do such a thing.

Almost.

This time, he rubbed his cane with his thumb in slow circles. He had seen magic that chaotic, and with such a unique appearance, a few times, but it was long ago, sealed off now. "A demon...no no, impossible…" There was no doubting it, however much he wanted. Jaune was infected by Chaos, as well as branded as Undead, and it is a part of him, now and forever. He would need to have a chat with the Arc clan leaders, and see if he could look into their history. Until then...

A quick glance out the window, and bespectacled eyes met the eerily clear eyes of a crow, of which he greeted it's slow nod with a sip from his mug. He didn't need to worry, he had help, and the boy would be dealt with, should it be needed. As Undead, the deaths necessary to render the boy as Hollow would need to be quick, brutal, demoralizing and plentiful.

"Sir?" Oh, the doctor. Seems she has Mr. Arc's folder. "I wanted to speak with you about that boy, something is worrying me." Hm, many things about the boy could be worrying, he pondered, which on the list could it be?

"It is, when the nurses removed his clothes for washing, we got to see what is of his body." With that line, he would have humored his rare bouts of inappropriate jokes, but it was the serious worry on her face that halted it. "His body, it...that boy should _not_ be alive, not with all that...damage."

"Whatever do you mean, Amanda?" She raised her hand and nibbled her finger, a nervous tic she never grew out of. Silent, she merely handed the Headmaster the boy's file, and upon looking into the report, he frowned. It was a report on his physical health, doctor comments and notes on the boy's body and Auric shape, but it was one line of text that made his thoughts pause.

"...has this been reported in any previous medical records?" Amanda shook her head in the negative. This was very complexing, and worrying.

The boy is only a recent Undead, and the Arc's wouldn't do this to one of their own...or did he not know them well enough?

* * *

"Your semester schedule has been sent to your scroll, of which acts as your student handbook, class planner, communications, school and world map, key for dormitory and school standard locks, as well as an emergency beacon for on field based missions. You will be expected to care and supply your own means of funds throughout your stay, including munitions and personal needs regarding arms, armor and your person. But Beacon will be able to provide for you with a gradual salary that you _will_ be expected to pay off continuously throughout your time within these halls should you be unable to, am I understood? Good.

"Beacon is made up of several wings, the largest of which being the class, medical and financial wings, with the dormitories making up several smaller buildings located around campus. The financial wing is where you will be able to supply yourself with munitions, school and personal necessities, hunter necessities, fashion based choices, access to the CCT, access to school supplied missions and minor 'quests', if you will, which generally frequent around the forest and the surrounding areas. You will have access to a forge, the quartermaster, shopping districts, fast food and all things students have found they need throughout their daily lives. You will not be barred from visiting Vale as long as it is sanctioned by a member of staff or during time where it will not impede on school hours...Mr. Arc, are you listening?"

" **Nod."**

"Good. As I was saying, travel between Vale and the Academy will not be barred sans for exceptions, such as punishment for constant rule breaking." The Deputy then began swiping through her oversized scroll for a short moments, taking a lull in her speech.

" _How does she do that without looking like she needs to breathe?"_ " **I couldn't say."**

"I suppose the rest of the basics can be read from your scroll on your own time, for now, your team awaits." _Ah, I wonder who we got? Pyrrha is a definite, she's my partner after all._ Losing track of time was rather easy, it seemed. " **Just focus. I am not retelling what happens because you can't do it yourself."** _Relax, I'm quite interested in this._

The hall itself was rather quiet, thankfully empty, and allowing the duo -mental trio?- to walk briskly. The view wasn't bad, Jaune had to admit, with large, church door like windows on the left wall, giving a wonderful view of the main grounds below. The grounds were pale pavement, some students in uniform, some not in uniform, walking the grounds, giving a decent view to a few of the personalities the school housed, humans and faunus, rainbow hair colors and styles, physical builds, things like that. Trees, bushes, well trimmed grass, wooden benches stylized like roots against said trees, and a rather spectacular view of Vale and it's grand walls off in the distance.

Even Chosen seemed to admit, through a rather pleased low rumble, his enjoyment of the view. The silence may have been itching to others, and once upon a time, Jaune himself would have been fidgeting nervously, never being able to take the time and embrace his surroundings. It would seem his Undead status was paying off once more, as for once in his life, he wasn't a bumbling mess when in new environments.

Reaching the end of the large, white hall, the trio were presented with a warm brown, oak door, room number 263. Was this his dorm? If so, it was well placed, with a wonderful view on each future venture to and from said room.

Deputy Goodwitch held an emotionless face, entering full professional mode, abandoning the light softness she held for the boy earlier for the stern look she was infamous for, well, to a lighter degree. For some reason, she pulled out a normal sized Scroll, swiping it in front of the door, being rewarded with a click, before tossing it back towards Jaune in a rather odd manner for the professional woman.

"It would be rather difficult for a student to be able to go anywhere without their Scroll to unlock the doors, now wouldn't it, Mr. Arc?" Bespectacled, solid gaze meeting the boy's confused one, and he let out a low "huh", as he realized he had been tossed his _personal_ Scroll.

Odd that he never noticed it missing.

"Mr. Arc, if you would stop looking so awed from a simple door lock, you have a team awaiting you." Jaune was thankful the calm going through him seemed to stop the constant stream of stutters and odd teen need to respond verbally to everything, instead opening the door...and being immediately pinned in a bear hug, followed by a squeal of "JAUNEY!"

"Nora?" Even from the surprise tackle -slash- hug from the pancake obsessed Valkyrie, Jaune didn't get to experience what would undoubtedly be death by crushed chest, thanks to a certain Headmistress' immediate reactions, a purple glow surrounding the ginger's body, Miss Goodwitch's irritated, but resigned sigh following the oddly fast spectacle.

"Miss Valkyrie, if you would be so kind as to _not_ bodily harm every student you see, that would be kindly appreciated." It would seem even the ginger girl had caught the seasoned Huntress by surprise, if the way she had to fix a few strands of frizzled hair from her sudden dodge meant anything.

"But this isn't just a student, Miss G! This is Jaune-Jaune!" As if summoned via his companion's new title for the blonde Undead, a certain green ninja appeared behind the redhead's bouncy person, pulling said girl into the room with a sigh and a stoic apology for her behavior.

" _Ren has to be a saint."_ " _ **Poor man."**_ Entering the room, he found not just the Valkyrie and the ninja, but Pyrrha, the shy Priestess, looking as if she was trying to make herself small, as well as the dual wielding knightess, who waved.

"Mr. Arc, allow me to introduce you to your teammates, Pyrrha Nikos-" Pyrrha gave a wave and a happy smile, "-Oro Bianco Covetous-" the dual wielder gave a nod of the head and a 'please to meet you', "-and Epifania della Divinità." If it was possible, the pale girl seemed to shrink in on herself even more, even as she gave a polite curtsy in her white robes. "By choosing the white rook pieces, you four will make team JOPE, led by Jaune Arc…*sigh* and we look forward to all of your commitment towards being the _hope_ of humanity, alongside all Hunters." Going by the disappointment in her voice, that wasn't said of her own will. Wait.

" _Led by?"_ " _ **This will be interesting...and difficult."**_ He had to agree, and ask: why him, of all people?

"Um, Miss G?" No sigh, but the wave of the hand the headmistress gave seemed a bit too tired than was necessary, as she prompted Nora to continue speaking. "Me and Renny also got a white rook, why aren't we on the team?"

"I do apologize, miss Valkyrie, but due to _certain_ events during your Initiation, it would seem your Relic had been broken. In that act, you have been removed from what would have been team JNPR, and now have another pair of the same circumstance awaiting your arrival to be officially welcomed into Beacon as a four man unit." That...didn't seem very fair. " _We were under attack by two giant Grimm, it wasn't her fault."_ Jaune shook his head, face impassive. No, while not being with the hammer-ninja duo was rather disappointing, it wasn't as if it was the end of the world -they were still students, and they could still be friends.

Miss Goodwitch was also impassive, simply going over something on her oversized Scroll as she spoke once more. "With that, may I welcome all of you into Beacon, officially. Miss Valkyrie, Mr Lie, if you would please follow me, your teammates await."

As the three left the room, leaving the newly christened JOPE in somewhat awkward silence, broken only by Jaune's groan. "Well then, introductions?"

* * *

 **And cut! I sincerely apologize for the inexcusable wait! Especially for a chapter as relatively simple as this one.**

 **Having been sick for a while, couple with writer's block and the first weeks of senior year at school hasn't been easy, mostly due to my horrible planning skills. Add to that family and, I cannot lie about this and feel honesty is better, pure laziness, this chapter was put on hold for far too long.**

 **I am aware that some people are not fans of this story, not because of the idea, the story presented, but because of the rather serious tone I have attempted for this story, something I am not really known for. My track record in constantly updating stories I write is not very good, I admit and know that many of you are frustrated by that, as the stories you all favorite and want to continue are ones that I more than likely will never touch again, or ones I will probably rewrite, and if my rewritten stories have proved anything, it won't be getting much better.**

 **Still though, I have plans for this story, and as the second rate writer I am, and I am being generous here, I am thankful for those that would stick with this and support me all the way. Seriously, writing is a passion I am horrible at, and all the support, no matter how minor, is welcomed with open arms and honest thanks.**

 **I thank Yang Xiao Longer for all the support, as well as the few reviews, PMs and favorites I have received. Seriously, it means a lot to little ole me.**


	11. Chapter 11, here at last!

Deep in the badlands of the Vale, law was fickle. Down here, strength and cunning were the deciding factor between life and death. It was something engraved in its very earth. And now, a pair of boots stepped boldly on it. Boots as black as night, regal in their simplicity and practicality. They connected to legs clad in similarly black leather.

The owner of those simple boots and tight pants, was neither tall nor short. Their stature was not bulky, and not thin, lean one could say. Perhaps tilting towards feminine. If compared to the rest of humanity, the shape could be considered simple.

This new arrival wore black robes that reflected the stars and shone under the glory of the fractured moon. These robes were as simple as the rest of the clothes, showing not a single attention-catching ornaments. There was nothing to weigh it down like armor or complex weapons.

A silver clasp held it together at the neck. The robe's short sleeves revealed nothing much, as the arms were covered by an undercoat. That last piece of tight clothes wasn't widened by muscles or thin enough to show bones. It was dark as well, but with silver studded manchettes. It was yet another simple detail.

The collar of the robes were popped up high, covering the sides of the neck to protect those vulnerable parts from the elements. If you ignored the shadowy color palette, the man's clothes screamed practicality. Just like the man who wore them.

Attached on his back was a black greatsword. Its brown leather handle peered over the shoulder, and presented a rectangular guard. The blade it supported was well crafted and flat tipped. This weapon screamed simplicity. Just like the man who wielded it.

All in all, the attire was light and maneuverable for a man who fought with agility and dexterity. A man who would not take blows in a fight needed no armor. A bold yet simple logic.

The attire was lightly dirtied, and lightly damaged from time spent camping, and travelling. He was a wanderer, one who could defend himself.

But why had this simple man wandered into such a complicated place as the Valean badlands? It was not simple to walk alone. What was most non simple was that the simple man wore a very elaborate mask.

The mask resembled the appearance of a bird. It was composed of several layers of dark bronze plating placed over one another. Their placements kept the mask smooth on the face, but as it extended it curled and grooved to resemble a creature that was much more than human. Some spots were lined with curled silver. As for the openings, two sharp ovals served as eyes, but there were no visible sockets to breathe through. Truly not so simple.

In the distance,the far, far distance, the overwhelmingly simple man could spy a great amount of campfires, little dots among the crooked and complicated land he aimed to wander in. Behind his strange mask, the man smiled. A friendly smile. A simple smile.

Tonight was a night to rejoice, after all. His Lady had spoken, and the simple man would go about his duties with the grace of a predator and the compassion of a man who loved nought but what he was trained to do.

He was prepared for the _celebration_. So prepared in fact, that those in the distance might have felt that unseen, simple smile become predatory. The black blade that slept on the back of this visitor gracefully awakened in a quiet rasp of metal and leather. The man brought it forward, enjoying this simple act of unsheathing.

That sword sure was hungry. Good thing those who occupied the campfires were ready to offer themselves, whether they knew it or not, to some simple old-fashioned _Salvation._

…

…

…

Grimm Studies. Pyrrha knew that this would be the class that finally killed her. And not because of glorious battle of blades and bullets sadly. In fact, the Amazon felt that if any weapon _did_ kill her, it would be mercy killing. Anything would do but listening to this mind-leeching fairy tale.

" _No no, stay strong."_ She thought. " _The Professor is a professional Huntsman, a graduate and decades my senior. He would not be allowed to teach if he wasn't competent."_

"And that, dear students, is how I killed a pack of rampaging Alpha Beowolves with nothing but a stick, a handful of rubber bands and sunscreen!" The enthusiastic teacher looked over the classroom with a proud smirk. "Well well... I think we have some time left so how about we talk about the time I took out a Beringel clad in my birthday suit, with nothing but suntan lotion and my shining..!"

" _OH IT GETS WORSE!"_ She screamed internally.

Pyrrha, at this very moment, felt her brow twitching and spasming violently like in a cartoon. Even after all her years of dealing with reporters, nosy fans, lecherous stalkers, awed passersby, insufferable sparring partners and damnable sponsors, she couldn't stop her practiced and perfected smile from cracking into something not very sane.

She, a four time Mistral Champion, straight A student, the Goddess of Victory (and Gods did she hate that title), only needed an hour into the first class of her first day of Beacon Academy to feel like committing seppuku! Or murder... Maybe both? Any order would be fine really...

Oh, don't get her wrong, she knew what the Professor was attempting to do; life lessons via life stories. She had gone through classes where teachers did something similar, forcing their students to find the hidden details, to piece together the hints and techniques via hard thinking and teamwork. She did her best to write few pages and a half worth of randomly scribbled notes. Those writings were hurried and chaotic compared to the elegant cursives of the white board and whatever theatric dregs she could catch in the teacher's story. But in this case, after three hours of hellish lecture, she concluded that Professor Peter Port was just so. Damn. _Bad!_

" _Seriously! The man could force a horde of Beowolves into mass suicide with a story and a jiggle of the jowls!"_ She wanted to tell her neighbors, but was too depressed to do so.

However, she only managed to sigh weakly. In a desperate effort to restore her sanity, the fiery haired Spartan took the time to glance around the class. It didn't reveal much variety. Most of the students were either sleeping (lucky them), dazing off into space (ther souls had been stolen it seemed), or like her; forcing their eyes forward to suffer through the "lesson" just like good studious students. Among this pitiful assembly was Team RWBY, her dorm-neighbors. Those four were practically dead to the world at this point.

The tall blonde girl, Yang, was flat on her desk with a disgusted face. She made her head balance on her chin as if to prevent her brain from solidifying.

The young team leader, Ruby, -somehow wearing a cape and not violating school uniform code- was doodling _something_ with her tongue poking out, making a soft but disturbing noise.

Then there was the ever obnoxious but good hearted -or so she could hope- Weiss Schnee. She appeared to die on the inside with each scratch of pencil on paper coming from her partner. The gross sounds coming from her red partner didn't help.

The quiet, bow wearing girl, Blake she believed, seemed a little _too_ interested in the class textbook. Wait… A closer glance revealed some form of smaller novel hidden within the textbook.

Pyrrha clenched her fists, almost breaking her pen: " _Oh you dirty scoundrel! You couldn't have brought more?"_ Jealousy was eating her alive now. Many years of private tutors and etiquette classes made it a near impossible idea to even try and skirt lessons. Even ignoring the teacher for a moment made her feel guilty. Oh, but how wonderful it would be to hear and see something with a bit of sense in it... She resisted this distasteful temptation at a great price and left those four sad cadavers to their business.

Determined to pull through, she decided to focus on her own team, seated all around her. It was here that Pyrrha's cracking, plastic smile she had maintained thus far became something more genuine. Whatever lottery she had won, by the Brothers was she overjoyed to have won it! Three - _Three!-_ people! Three living, breathing, _interesting_ people. Well... One being _living_ was debatable, but she'd rather focus on the good first! The two girls and her partner had some substance at least!

Oro, a dual sword wielding girl with fireworks in her heart. She only brought up the titles and championships once, to ask if the two could spar some time. After Pyrrha half-heartedly agreed, the hot-tempered student seemed to ignore that those titles of Invincible Girl and Goddess of Victory even existed, merely asking what bed she preferred. Pyrrha felt a nostalgic thinking back on this.

Usually, when people asked to spar with her, it was mostly in an effort to wrack up social "points" as it were; to say they sparred with the Goddess of Victory and survived the attempt (stupidly forgetting the meaning of sparring in the process. In conclusion, any fighting match was only made for lecherous goals, social empowering goals. Oro had wanted someone strong to fight and talk to, and left it at that.

The golden eyed girl was polite, but despite her knightly appearance, seemed quite capable of speaking her mind in a very informal, relaxed prose. Smaller than Pyrrha, with raven black hair tied in a braid by a golden band, the girl and her pale, flat expression managed to scratch down notes diligently, but Pyrrha didn't know her enough yet to tell if she could withstand the Professor's exaggerated, boring-to-tears stories or was just acting with the best poker face Pyrrha had ever seen.

Our perfect student turned her eyes to Oro's left. She saw another raven haired girl, Epifania, sitting with the most adorable expression of despair in the world. Here she was, the faunus with tears forming in her violet eyes, and her head tilting to the side like a begging puppy's. She looked about ready to collapse, the poor thing. An empty notebook and a freshly sharpened pencil in her shaky hands told of her frustration and confusion. She kept rapidly glancing down to her journal and then up to the Professor's chaotic presentation, moaning softly all the while. Being a priestess (or was it a Sister? Pyrrha didn't really know church titles) the faunus girl was given a specially made uniform, with a top that was white with gold accents instead of black with gold, a long skirt covering her legs entirely and a pair of cream white gloves with gold colorings sewn into the fingers. Around the girl's neck was a thin silver chain with a simple circle pendant resting on her breasts.

Oro and Epifania, it was clear their partnership was set in stone even before the Initiation began. Oro had revealed herself to be Epifania's bodyguard, in a sense. If they ever became separated, it would lead to Ozpin getting some heat from the Church. " _Perhaps she is important to the Church? Or is this how it always goes with their members?"_ Getting a religious teammate was unusual, especially one with such a high position, or so the Amazon thought. Outside of that, the raven girl was polite, very shy, but quick to warm up to new faces. Another precious beacon of hope in this sea of boredom.

Having said that, the sight of the last person on Pyrrha's team was not as appreciated as the rest. It was hard to keep her smile up and running. She would never (she doubted she ever could) forget about the fact that she _killed_ her own partner during the Initiation, and that that same boy came back to life with her spear lodged in his chest. Pretty crazy. You had to be there...

She wanted to say it was a Semblance (a very creepy one), she really did, but there was no convincing herself of that when she had to awaken the boy's Aura _after_ he came back from death. He was literally a revenant or something. And now there they were, in a classroom with a boring teacher like nothing happened. She...really didn't know what to do about this situation with her partner.

The changes in the handsome boy (even now, she couldn't exactly _deny_ that) were major. Jaune's skin had gotten paler. His face now presented a ghoulish, emotionless smile, one that sent shivers down her spine. His eyes had retained their color, but they felt different, devoid of humanity somehow. The boy seemed just as lost about the situation, perhaps more so, as she did, though Pyrrha doubted she could understand what coming back from the dead felt like, and she was very certain she never wanted to. The boy didn't look like a monster, and despite his ignorance on the matter, she knew he was still reeling from it. She figured as much on the first night team JOPE spent together. Whenever he thought they weren't looking, sometimes even when they were, he'd get this dazed looks in his dull blue eyes, spacing out, but quickly coming back down to Remnant in only a matter of seconds.

The poor boy could be hiding his pain from the three girls, and only Pyrrha may know the reason why, or could get one of the major reasons why. Oro and Epifania had no clue. They were perplexed, but content to let the team leader deal with it. It happened only the first day, after all, it would be awkward to get into something personal with people they barely know.

Pyrrha couldn't help it, she was afraid of Jaune. " _Who wouldn't be?_ " she told herself. And she couldn't run from it either, she wouldn't. She was responsible for Jaune's very apparent death, though our Undead warrior had yet to notice it. So the emerald eyed Amazon made a silent vow to figure it out with him. Eventually. To help.

Technically she had made that same vow five times in the past two hours, doubting and questioning herself all the while. But she was stubborn, and no amount of fear would keep her from helping with a problem she had caused. Her honor was at stake, and her position demanded it.

" _Alright… Mental rant over. Only twenty minutes left before class ends_.", she thought. She looked towards the Professor once again. Still ranting, still boring. Despite herself, her mind wandered to the memories of the previous night.

Back then, Jaune was confident and calm. Sometimes he was spacing out here and there, but still rather calm. More than anything he was friendly, already joking with Oro, and at least _trying_ to befriend Pyrrha (situation aside, it made her giddy to have another non-admirer!) but despite his goofy demeanor, there were signs that already worried her.

First, it happened during Initiation. The young man had rocked their world with his incredible power. Whatever that crimson Aura attack was, it let off a big enough amount of pressure to make the group pass out and cause untold damage to their area of the forest. It was chaotic but very powerful. Was it Jaune's Semblance too? Whatever it was, it was dangerous, and needed work, _immediately._

Second, was what happened when Epifania told her that Jaune was staring at her back at the dorm. The faunus boy (because he was one of them. How she never noticed his slitted pupils until then was another mystery) always frowned at the innocent Priestess, Pyrrha noticed, whenever he glanced at her. There was clear signs of frustration in his eyes, but none of it was aimed at the girl, rather it was simply her pendant. He said so himself.

" _Look...I won't get in the way of your beliefs. I refuse to. I believe everyone is free to worship what they want, just, please don't try and include me in it. I'm not trying to be rude it's just...the Church and my family don't have very good...relations, I guess."_

Whatever that meant. Religion wasn't exactly a big issue in Pyrrha's life, never has been. Sure, she had met religious people, and was baptized herself, but she wasn't much of a churchgoer, and only just now met anyone who had any _issue_ with the church. It did seem personal to Jaune, and adding that revelation to the pile of confusing concerns that only happened a couple days earlier, and Pyrrha was left in a frazzled mess when it came to her partner. It was personal though, and she didn't exactly have any right to demand answers. The other girls might, but she doubted it. Just another confusing piece of info on her undying partner.

Said partner's face didn't move much, but like Oro did, he was capable of getting notes down on paper. Oh shoot... Jaune must have caught her staring, for his eyes slid to meet hers, a small wave accompanying a few seconds of awkward silence. Awkward… The embarrassment was broken only by the class bell and Port's yelp of surprise.

"Hmm, seems we've run out of time for the main event! Oh well, on your way now, students, your day has only begun after all!" Joy…

The red-haired Champion of Beacon Academy let out a sigh. She packed her things, mirroring the slowly awakening class. As she joined the line to the exit without a glance to their teacher, she redacted a last mental oath.

" _I swear on the Nikos name, Jaune Arc, that from now on, you have my support."_ And this time, she didn't hesitate to stand next to her partner as they left the room… Not too close though.. okay, yes, maybe she did hesitate... Zombies are not her forte.

…

" **We must do something about Lady Nikos, Jaune." said the ghastly voice.**

A righteous knight lowered a weary head. The voice was both welcoming, and a little annoying at the obvious being mentioned, but Jaune didn't disagree with it. He just wasn't sure how to go about it. After packing his notebook and pencil case back up in his knapsack, he calmly waited for his teammates to catch up to him near the exit. Poor Epifania had endured this ordeal without fainting, but now she was panicked about her lack of notes, of all things. He took the time to answer his new friend. " _Right, and just how do we do that? 'Hello Pyrrha, I'm an Undead so I can't die. Don't worry about stabbing me in the chest!' Seriously… She could… like... overreact if we told her the truth. She's already rather rattled, and we don't know her that well. She might snap and cut my head off. Or put her spear in my head, I don't know..."_

Chosen grumbled a little, and Jaune could almost clearly picture the imposing black knight walking alongside him, a confidence in his step that Jaune figured he could really use right about now. He still only became an Undead and was revealed the true nature of his long past rather recently, so he could be forgiven for being so nervous. Thankfully, Chosen's personality, and he knew it was the black knight's soul housed in his chest's fault, kept him rather calm.

Not completely calm, but enough for him to think clearer than he otherwise would, and not show his nerves nearly as much.

" _We can focus on Pyrrha later, we need to get to the next class. If Professor Oobleck is anything like Port, than we can go over more ideas in class."_ Thankfully, he was an Undead, and Jaune was quite certain having to listen to Port's stories on a regular basis may just be the death of him. Since the man was so far gone in his own ego to tell that half his class was dead to the world, Chosen decided to run through things Jaune should focus on, mostly being training with his sword and shield, and how best to implement his Chaos.

Jaune wasn't fond of the idea of Chaos just festering within him and remaining uncontrolled, but thanks to Chosen's magical expertise, the only thing he needed was a space to practice and the time to do so, and he wouldn't have to worry. So many things to do, and nothing he can do about it. The young Undead gritted his teeth in frustration, but there was no pain to stop him from feeling the blood on his lips. Chosen insisted:

" **Getting your weaknesses and strengths down will be paramount, Jaune. Tell me, what do you know abo-?"**

"Ahem… Jaune?" called a deep, yet clearly feminine voice in front of him.

Jaune blinked and refocused back on what was currently happening, namely that Oro was looking at him with brow raised.

"You're bleeding." she said with a raised eyebrow, pointing to her mouth.

Suickly, Jaune wiped his face and giggled in embarrassment.

"Ah, s-sorry Oro. I was thinking about… you know… something. Er... did you want something?" Another thing to work on. Spacing out with Chosen probably wasn't smart, especially in public.

"Must have been brutal. So, I was asking, leader of mine, if you realized you've been staring at the wall for the past minute."

He had, hadn't he. Taking a glance around, Jaune finally caught the confused stares aimed his way from the students that were trickling down the hall. This was worse than he thought. Now, Pyrrha and Epifania were the ones politely waiting for the two of them on the way towards World History.

"O-oh, like I said I was just caught up in thought… Really, sorry about that." Oro's brow didn't lower, but her questioning eyes did soften a bit.

"You sure it's not about the changes to your Aura?" she insisted. "We're used to weirdness from the Church and our trainers, and we're going to be teammates for the next four years, so how about you come clean?"

Ah, that. Worst question at the worst possible time. Nodding his head slowly, he almost missed the quickly stifled grimace that appeared on Pyrrha's face, head turning slightly to not face him.

He was debating just how to explain what was happening to the girl who had killed him why he was still breathing, and telling the other two members, members of what is basically the Way of White with a slight name change that he was an 'unholy' Undead? Yeah, he couldn't do that.

Instead, he merely went with what the Doc told him, how apparently his Aura had undergone Forced Evolution, and the changes it brought made him distracted. Despite only recently learning about Aura, it was surprisingly easy to blame anything on it.

"I'm a lucky guy who got special abilities on the fly! It's all good, but scary too. You could say I'm overwhelmed by my awesomeness. Guess I'm still getting used to being a special case." And now Epifania was approaching him. Jaune rubbed his neck and got the point. "Just give me a few days and I won't daydream anymore! Honest! Hahaha!"

"That's good then! I-if you'd like, Sir Jaune, perhaps we could talk about this during lunch? If not there, then, um, the dorm? As your teammate, I am always here to help...unless you don't want to, that is!" The deer faunus had a surprisingly low amount of confidence, and this was just a normal conversation! Well, kind of normal.

It could also be because he revealed he wasn't very fond of the very Church that more than likely fostered the girl. Still, he gave Epifania a smile, glad that she didn't seem to take offense to his request, at least not enough to cause a potential rift in the team. Now all he needed to do was get her to stop calling him 'Sir'.

"Why, thanks, Epifania." Calm restored, he accompanied his team to the next lesson. Hopefully, it won't be as boring as the last one. Undead or not, the Professor had made him feel deader than during the Initiation. Besides, it was World History, what was the worst that could happen?

* * *

 **Okay! So, I'm back, and with some more help! I would love to introduce my very helpful and very kind beta-reader, Arklaw! Being responsible for the release of this new chapter, I truly cannot thank him enough for all the help he has given me! Arklaw is a cheerful man, who is in the process of writing stories of his own! Definitely great reads!  
**

 **Perhaps you've heard of him, perhaps you haven't, but either way, he is worth checking out!**

 **Thank you, all of you, for being so patient with me, and I can only hope this chapter was worth the wait! Questions can be directed to me, as always.**


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